Somedays
by tiramisoup
Summary: He loved her; she died. Caught between the Alliance and Cerberus, Shepard and Kaidan must pick sides and prove loyalties. When she goes rogue and he reconnects with an old flame, suicide missions to save the galaxy might be the least of their problems.
1. Dream a Little Dream of the Normandy

**Prologue: Dream a Little Dream of the _Normandy_**

* * *

><p>There was a beach, the classic kind of beach from the old vids: clouds drifting serenely across an azure sky; clear waters sparkling like an ocean of precious stones, working hard to earn the name "sea-foam green"; rough surf lapping the golden sands of the shore; a soft breeze rustling the fronds of palm trees, carrying the tang of salt, laden with the fragrance of exotic blossoms and tantalizing hints of earth and spice.<p>

There were two chairs with umbrellas, currently unoccupied.

There were drinks with umbrellas, too, currently forgotten; fruity drinks with vaguely suggestive names, their colorful layers melting gently together.

Lieutenant Commander Caitlin Shepard stretched languidly on a beach towel, fingers pressing into the sand around her little oasis, muscles relaxing as sunlight soaked into her skin.

The media could say what they liked, but the Butcher of Torfan had become the Savior of the Citadel, and _this_ was her well-deserved shore leave.

She felt a weight settle beside her and smiled in anticipation. Calloused hands, slick with oil, rested on her shoulders, kneading lightly before sliding down, caressing her shoulder-blades. Long fingers pressed into the muscles between her ribs, paused at the hollow in her back as his thumbs traced abstract patterns, then continued their inexorable path downward, following the curve of her hips. His fingers caught on the string ties of her bathing suit, pulling gently, playfully, then roughly, demanding. A sharp tug and the fabric fell away from her skin. He leaned over her, the heat of the sun suddenly dimmed by the heat of his body, and pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck.

She shifted her arms to turn over, but his hands gripped her hips, pinning her down as he dragged his tongue along her spine; she shivered, moaning softly. One hand released her, stroking the curve of her bottom and coming to rest in the gap between her thighs, gentle but insistent pressure urging her legs apart. She complied, arching her back, waiting for his deft fingers to continue their work. For an agonizing moment, he was still.

"Tell me what you want," he said gruffly.

_Want?_

She tried to think, fists clutching the towel as though it might keep her grounded. She wanted _him_, inside her, hard and fast and — importantly — _now_; she wanted...

She wanted the alarm to stop ringing.

_Why is the alarm so loud?_ Shepard thought groggily in the instant before consciousness set in.

Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko, a man who was most assuredly not in her bed, on account of regulations and other inconvenient things, sat up next to her, breaking the warm cocoon of blankets.

_Probably Kaidan's fault. Probably tinkered with the clock. Stupid adorable techie._

Kaidan was already out of bed when the ship shuddered. It wasn't her alarm. Her eyes flew open.

Shepard stumbled out of bed, reaching frantically for the clothes they had discarded hours earlier, trading items with Kaidan in a tangle of limbs. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears. It did not sound like the beach.

"Alert, hull breach in sectors two, three, sev—" droned the voice of the _Normandy_'s VI, drowned out by the noise of an explosion.

Okay, new plan: clothing was out, armor was in. Shepard's questing hands found his armor first, pushed it toward him, caught the reluctance on his face even as he began pulling on the mesh bodysuit.

"What?" she shouted over another explosion, one eyebrow quirked. "It looked cute on you!"

* * *

><p>Pressly was dead. Kaidan knew it even as he ran a cursory diagnostic with his omni-tool. It was apparent from the pallor of the man's skin, his empty stare, and the charred, gaping hold where his lungs should have been. He turned his attention to Joker, who was clinging to the flight console.<p>

"Come on, we have to get out of here," Kaidan shouted, trying to make himself heard over the klaxons. Joker didn't even look at him. "I know the _Normandy_ is your baby, Joker, but we have to leave. Now!" Kaidan grabbed Joker's arm, but the younger man jerked away, bringing his arm around to smack Kaidan's outstretched hands.

"I'm not leaving her while she's still flying. Get the fuck out of here, Alenko!" Joker snapped.

"That's an order, _Flight Lieutenant Moreau_!" Kaidan spat back, bending down to grab the pilot bodily and drag him away. Joker's fist shot out, slamming into Kaidan's jaw, a painful reminder that, frail though his legs may be, Joker's upper body was as fit as any marine's.

"I said get the hell out, asshole! I'm not leaving _Normandy_!"

Kaidan grimaced, but Joker's face was set. The man was serious, and would fight every step of the way. There was only one choice. Kaidan turned and sprinted for the stairs.

* * *

><p>There were too many fires.<p>

Shepard thanked her brain for that helpful observation as she tossed aside the fire extinguisher she'd picked up, then picked it up again. It would be completely ineffectual in every single way, but at least it gave her hands something to do while she ran down her mental checklist of evacuation procedures.

Commander Shepard was a decorated soldier, a veteran of countless perilous and impossible missions, and not naturally inclined to panic. Then again, for most of her life she had been able to sublimate any urge to panic into a roaring good time shooting at bad men. Or women. Badness was equal-opportunity. So maybe she _was_ inclined to panic, but had previously had a very good coping mechanism. Huh. Hell of a time to find that out, when her ship was less 'ship' and more 'flaming scrap-heap'.

Still. One less fire meant a few more seconds before everything went completely to hell.

* * *

><p>Everyone was out of the CIC, including most of the hull. Kaidan smiled grimly to himself as the pressure seals around the stairwell door locked into place. Even the <em>Normandy<em> knew it was time to abandon ship. Joker was the only one who didn't seem to get it. Kaidan could understand the impulse to die with his one true love; he should have hauled Joker's insubordinate ass out of that chair, broken bones be damned.

He took the stairs three at a time, practically leaping down them, heading for the garage. He'd left his breather helmet in his locker like some FNG. The _Normandy_ VI shut off abruptly, or maybe the comm system shut down, or something, somewhere, stopped working; Kaidan, for once, had neither the time nor the inclination to fix it. The klaxons were still blaring, and he heard Shepard issuing orders to the medical team over his suit comm, so at least those still worked.

_Yeah. Positive thinking can definitely help here. We can just patch it up with some duct tape, Shepard can go shoot the bad guys, day saved, hurrah, lots of celebratory sex._

He indulged the bitter thought as he emerged into the garage. Adams and two of his crew were hovering around the door to engineering, omni-tools glowing brightly in the dim light. Kaidan caught something about "core containment" and "fuel lines" as he slammed open his locker, grabbed his helmet, and headed back to the stairs.

"Adams!" he shouted. "Evac shuttles, ASAP!"

The man gave him a sharp salute. "Aye, aye, sir!"

It was ridiculous, observing protocol while the world exploded around them. But Kaidan was a marine. Protocol kept order. It kept people in line, stopped them from panicking and endangering everyone else. He tossed a salute in return as his foot hit the swell step.

He made it to the crew deck without major incident — drive core leaks and burning elevator shafts were not incidents; they were the expected state of affairs given that the ship was rapidly disintegrating — and now his overriding concern was to find Shepard and get the hell off this boat before it took them down with it.

He ran through the mess, shifting his balance as the deck rocked beneath his feet. He could barely see through the haze of smoke and shimmering heat; he hefted the helmet in his hands, wondering if he was getting stupider with age or if whatever had happened to the drive core was causing short-term memory loss. Neither option was really palatable; both were slightly hilarious.

He found her at a console near the sleeper pods.

"Shepard!" he yelled as he skidded to a stop, pulling on his helmet and checking the seals.

She turned to him. "Distress beacon ready for launch," she declared coolly, and Kaidan took a split-second to admire her composure.

"Will the Alliance get here in time?" he asked, knowing it was pointless, needing to say it anyway. Even if the Alliance caught their distress signal, the _Normandy_ was already lost. And the Alliance didn't have any heavy warships in the Terminus Systems; anything that arrived to save the crew would be at the mercy of the ship that had torn the _Normandy_ apart.

"The Alliance won't abandon us. We just need to hold on," she replied in steady tones. Her voice was strength, confidence, certainty. It snaked tendrils into his mind, smothering his doubts and shoring up his wavering confidence. Shepard was like that. She had her own kind of Indoctrination.

Another explosion threw him off his feet; she caught him and pulled him upright. "Get everyone into the escape shuttles."

"Joker's still in the cockpit. He won't abandon ship." Kaidan paused, knowing her response. "I'm not leaving either."

She grabbed his arm, speaking quietly but firmly. Shepard, his commanding officer. "I _need_ you to get the crew into the evac shuttles. I'll take care of Joker."

Yeah, that was it. Kaidan tried futilely to argue. "Commander —"

"Alenko, get the hell off my ship!" she snapped at him, thrusting an arm out as thought he needed directions. He looked at her for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of throwing her over his shoulder and dragging her out, the way he should have done with Joker. Con: she would probably kick the shit out of him. Pro: she would probably hold his hand in medbay. His training won.

"Aye, aye."

He took off running.

* * *

><p>Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to BioWare.<p>

A/N: Somewhere, there must be stairs to the engineering deck. The Normandy has sprinklers, therefore she must have fire stairs. Probably hidden with the escape pods.

I've taken some liberties with in-game dialogue, but nothing too drastic.

Shepard background: Colonist / Ruthless / Vanguard, roughly equal paragon / renegade scores. I don't expect this to matter much in the course of the story.


	2. A Rogue Spectre Is Trouble

**Chapter 1: A Rogue Spectre Is Trouble**

* * *

><p>"Wait! Kaidan!"<p>

He kept walking. Shepard growled under her breath and ran after him.

"What did you say about the Citadel?" she asked as she caught up, reaching out to grab his arm. She could see a faint tinge of blue around his hand and ignored it, plunging ahead. "Spectre?"

She was looking for it, so she noticed the ripple of muscle as he set his jaw. It was a wild leap, but Shepard had learned, sometimes painfully, to trust her instincts.

"Well." She found herself, uncharacteristically, at a loss for words. Her mind felt jumbled; the adrenaline that kept her focused and aware of seemingly insignificant details in combat was fading. She smiled weakly. "Congratulations."

Kaidan pulled his arm away, but stood where he was, facing away from her.

_This is ridiculous._

Shepard didn't handle drama well. Faced with stubborn opposition, it was a lot easier to shoot someone, or at least get in a good punch. Most people would fall in line after that — or fight back, and then there would be messy reports to file, but at least there wasn't all this nonsense with sulking and silence and blame. She exhaled sharply. Her head felt like a racquetball court after a day of heavy use.

"I hope you're having more fun than I did, trying to do your job when no one believes you," she said bitterly. "And the people who are _supposed_ to back you up just keep whining about _proof_." Okay, maybe more bitterness than strictly required. Damn, now _she_ was whining! That's what drama did to people.

Kaidan turned on her, fury twisting his handsome features into a scowl. "What the hell do you _expect_ me to believe? You were gone for _two years_! Two years without a word, and now you show up with Cerberus and act like nothing ever happened! Like it's all just a game, or a really complicated joke!" He grabbed her shoulders forcefully. "_Where the hell have you been_?"

Shepard had never seen Kaidan angry, not really. He'd expressed dissatisfaction when the Council had ignored them, he'd been mad enough to snap at Ambassador Udina when the man had grounded the first _Normandy_, but he treated those outbursts like momentary lapses in judgement. Almost nothing broke his calm demeanor. She'd never seen him _seething_ like this.

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. What could she say? _Don't worry Kaidan, I was dead, but it's no big deal. All better now, see?_ Jacob had told her about Project Lazarus — _nothing but meat and tubes_ — Miranda had filled in some of the details — _two years rebuilding you, exactly the way you were_ — Dr. Chakwas had read the files, as she would for any patient. But Shepard had yet to see the files for herself. Resurrection was easy; it was the dying part she had problems with.

"I, I told you," she stammered.

"Yeah, coma, you said," he scoffed, relaxing his grip. "Found time to recruit a team though, didn't you?"

She stared at him. There was a weariness, an emptiness in his eyes, behind the anger. He looked so _lost_.

"Kaidan..." She reached for him, but he pushed her away.

"I don't want to hear it."

"You're going to listen, anyway!" she snapped, suppressing a flinch as he narrowed his eyes.

_Ugh. Great job Commander, this is going so well already. Perfect follow-up to the aperitif we just had. Keep going, maybe if you scream loud enough he'll get confused and propose._

The thought slammed into her exhausted brain like a steel girder through glass. She froze under the onslaught of emotions clamoring for attention, embarrassment flushing her skin.

_Focus._

On the plus side, he was still standing there, and not walking away from her again.

"Look," she began slowly, "I can't explain everything. I don't even understand it all myself."

"So you're taking Cerberus' word for it?" he asked disdainfully. Shepard frowned, and he looked away. She got the impression he was refraining from rolling his eyes.

"I got spaced, Kaidan," she said in a low voice, carefully enunciating each syllable, watching for his reaction. There wasn't one. "There was a leak in my suit's O2 line." Ah, there it was. A tiny flicker across his face, quickly contained. "It was too far back; I couldn't reach it. I lost pressure."

He sagged a little, shoulders slumping. She wasn't sure how to continue; she usually tried not to think about dying, and now, having to explain it to _him... _she swallowed the lump forming in her throat.

"I don't remember all of it. I remember the explosion, and the silence. I remember wishing I hadn't yelled at you." She offered him an apologetic smile. What was that expression? Sorrow? Remorse? "And then there was the sound. The hiss when the seal broke. I remember thinking, _Kaidan is going to be _so_ mad at me..._"

His eyes locked onto hers. He took a clumsy step forward, and then —

— and then she was in his arms, his mouth hot on hers, his hands in her hair, armor crushed awkwardly together. What was with armor, anyway? It just got in the way of _warm skin, tinged orange under fluorescent light, smooth and supple and slightly ticklish right _there — she couldn't breathe, she was dying again — no, she was alive, gloriously _alive_, and his tongue was sliding over her lips, past her teeth, pressing lightly against hers, tasting her; she could taste him and _remember_ the taste of him and she was never going to need to breathe again, they would just die here together, burn up like twin suns as every nerve in her body realigned in awareness of _him_. She could feel the heavy thrum of his biotics in her bones as her hands slid down his sides, brushing the edges of ceramic plating. She was dimly aware that she was flaring, or he was flaring, or they were flaring together, but the salient point was that she was going to get them both out of that fucking armor and —

He pulled away, just enough to break the kiss, one hand in her tousled hair, the other wrapped around her waist. She bit back a whimper. Kaidan leaned forward to rest his brow against hers, eyes closed, chest heaving as they both drew ragged breaths. "Pretend I believe that," he whispered against her lips.

"Kaidan," she gasped, dread pooling in her stomach.

He shook his head, a slight motion she felt as much as saw. He opened his eyes and stared at her with that clear, calm gaze that concealed so much.

"Even if it's the truth, Shepard, it doesn't change anything."

What did that mean? Why was he still arguing with her? Resentment trickled into her veins, mingling with desire. Her abused body responded with a new surge of adrenaline.

"You're still working for Cerberus —"

"With! I'm working _with_ them!" she protested, stepping back defensively. "I need a ship, a crew, I need people who _trust_ me, Cerberus can give me that!"

"So you're sleeping with the enemy to get the job done?" he yelled.

Shepard slapped him. A good, old-fashioned, open-handed smack across his cheek, with the weight of her armored glove behind it.

Kaidan glared at her with renewed anger, olive skin flushed, brown eyes dark. "We're done here, Shepard," he said coldly.

He turned on his heel, walking away from her for the second time that day. She watched him go, regretting the brusqueness of his step and the tension of his shoulders, until he disappeared among the bland, prefab buildings of the colony.

She couldn't bring herself to follow him.

* * *

><p>Horizon stretched away before her.<p>

It was actually quite beautiful. It looked a lot like Mindoir. Not as green. More prefab buildings; by the time she'd left, Mindoir had actual houses, built with local materials. The same kind of fields, rolling along as far as the eye could see, neat rows of crops shifting gently in the steady breeze that swept over the plains. Shepard could see a river winding in the distance.

The air still reeked of battle, heat and ozone and burnt flesh. Toxic husk synthetic fluid. Exploding Collectors smelled better than Thorian creepers, but only just.

But the wind was already carrying that away, bringing in the scent of grains, livestock, and orchards. It swirled dust and dead grass around her feet, like tumbleweeds in an old Western vid.

Someone touched her arm. Shepard started, and glanced down to see the taloned hand of Garrus Vakarian. Her discarded helmet dangled from his other hand.

"Shepard," he said quietly, mandibles fluttering as he frowned. She looked away, not wanting to have that discussion right now. She could hear Miranda Lawson behind her.

"Commander," said the brunette, moving to stand in front of her, hand outstretched. She was holding a piece of cloth; Shepard stared at it blankly. Miranda pressed it into Shepard's hand, tilting her head at Garrus. They both stepped away.

Shepard sniffed, surprising herself with the sound.

_Oh. Stupid. Crying in front of the crew. Very professional._

She dried her eyes with the handkerchief Miranda had given her.

_Where does she keep a handkerchief, anyway? Maybe she pads her bra with it._

Shepard smiled at the thought, then chided herself for being ungenerous. Miranda had some completely twisted views on Cerberus, but under that laughable armor and the arrogance she brandished like a weapon, the woman seemed to have her heart in the right place — when she admitted to having a heart at all.

Shepard's mind wandered back to Kaidan.

Fine. He wanted to play it that way? Run back to the Council and tell them what a bad girl she was? Well, two could play that game, and she'd been playing it longer. She was still a Spectre. She was alone, in Terminus space, without Council backup. Like always. The Council had been reluctant to reinstate her, and they'd be equally reluctant to disbar her. Kaidan had no evidence: she was on Horizon with a Cerberus agent, the same Cerberus agent who'd been with her when she'd met with Anderson. No news there. He'd seen the ship, seen her fighting Collectors. Just like she'd told Anderson. The Council would shut him down, as they did her when she'd warned them about Saren.

She'd hunted Saren for the better part of a year. Kaidan had been with her then, so he knew how she operated, but he was also under the yoke of the Alliance, self-imposed though it may be. She had been an Alliance officer, but the brass had largely given her free rein to do her job as she saw fit, confident that she _would_, in fact, get the job done.

So. She was a Spectre, outside the Alliance, free to do as she liked with tacit Council approval, or at least without their explicit disapproval. The Illusive Man was still trying to pull her strings; Kaidan's presence here made that glaringly obvious. But she could deal with that. Violently, if necessary. She was essentially a rogue agent.

She grinned humorlessly at the irony.

* * *

><p>Kaidan's head thudded against the wall as he leaned back on his narrow bed. <em>Great<em>. That was not going to help the migraine he could feel building in his skull. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, ignoring the pressure, then flipped his hands to rest the back of his fingers against his eyes, reveling in the cool, soothing sensation.

First thing in the morning he would have to see if the comm system was online, see if any other colonists had survived, what condition they were in, check the GARDIAN lasers, get a message to Anderson, flag down an Alliance vessel and hitch a lift off this godforsaken colony...

There was so much to do and so little time in which to do it, and here he was, about to be whipped by a ridiculous, archaic condition. All those dozens of species, tens of thousands of years of combined galactic knowledge, and they couldn't cure a migraine. His implants were mocking him. It was like being knocked out by scurvy.

He ran his hands down his face; he needed to shave, too. In the grand scheme of things, he flagged that as low-priority, slightly after clean socks and slightly above hugging it out with Delan.

_God, why did I yell at her?_

Of course he was mad. She'd be mad, too, if their positions were reversed. Hell, she'd probably have shot him herself. But petty sniping wasn't like him. Losing his temper wasn't like him.

He stuck a hand out, waving it aimlessly over the bedside table, until his fingers bumped into cool, curved plastic. He fumbled with the bottle of sedatives, managing to remove the cap without spilling pills all over the bed. He dry-swallowed two, thought about what had just happened, and took a third.

_Yeah. That'll help even more than the shouting did._

Kaidan twisted his hips and shoulders, sliding down the bed to lie full-length along it. At least with the heavy dose of meds he was unlikely to have nightmares.

That wouldn't stop him from reliving every awful second in his waking hours. Well, not every second was awful. He'd kissed her. That was pretty fucking fantastic.

Even with a few inches of armor and heavy weaponry between them, she felt incredible, standing in front of him, pupils wide, breath moist and heavy, lips swollen from his kiss. He could remember the way she felt without armor, like it was only yesterday that she'd climbed on top of him, completely naked, pushing him down against her bed, slithering up him, pert breasts brushing against his chest. He could remember the tautness of her muscles, the surprising way they relaxed as he flipped her over, her hard lines softening to feminine curves. He remembered in excruciating detail how their biotics flared as they vied for dominance, neither willing to submit entirely, energy sparking over his skin painfully, delightfully, like her nails scraping down his back —

_Not helping._

He forced his eyes open, taking deliberate, steady breaths, staring at the ceiling as though it were a fascinating case study in prefab polyresin design.

So, yeah, they'd kissed. And then they'd argued again, and then she'd slapped him. So that was pretty fucking disastrous.

He raised a hand to his cheek, remembering the sting. Remembering how he'd shut down afterward. It was all going wrong.

He'd heard the rumors. His superiors, when they'd briefed him on Horizon, had implied heavily that if Shepard was alive, then she was Cerberus' new pet, and Cerberus would be coming after the colony. He'd waited weeks while the defense turrets were installed, wondering each day if she would arrive, striding into the settlement as though she owned the place, safe and perfect and _alive_, when he knew she was dead.

The part of him that loved her said it wasn't true, because obviously Shepard would never be involved in something like that, no matter what other people thought her capable of. He _knew_ her, and she wouldn't. She would see the cost was too high.

The _other_ part of him, the part he tried to keep locked away, said of course she would. Because he didn't really know her. Because she didn't love him, had never loved him. No one would ever love him. Because he was broken, just like Rahna thought.

So he'd told himself that the Shepard in the rumors was a clone, or a Cerberus lackey with a clever surgeon, or even just a myth invented to tip the balance of power. But that meant that Shepard, _his_ Shepard, was still dead, and the raw pain of her loss had bloomed anew in his heart.

So he'd told himself that if she _was_ alive, and with Cerberus, then it was a horrible mistake. They were using her, manipulating her. They'd found her half-dead and saved her, but kept her weak. She was a hostage.

Kaidan knew that he was, and always would be, a romantic. He'd grown up on stories of dashing heroes and their adoring paramours. He'd imagined how he would find her, sweep her into his arms, how they would whisper _I love you_ and he would save her from whatever hellish prison she was being kept in. Shepard being Shepard, he would hand her a gun and they would fight their way out, side by side, the way it should be. Later, when they were alone, she would thank him, and give him that slow, vulnerable smile that made his head pound and his groin ache...

And then here she was, with Cerberus, and she was the one giving the orders. And the seed of hope he'd nurtured had withered and died. She'd had Garrus with her, Garrus who had disappeared a few months after she'd died, without a word to anyone. Kaidan could feel jealousy roiling like acid in his stomach. How long had they been working together? How long had Cerberus been working with aliens?

He lashed out at the wall with a fist. The offending structure was perhaps chastened, but he felt no better. His jaw had been clenched and now his teeth ached. He stretched and yawned. Questions about Garrus would have to wait; they'd go into his report but there was no point brooding over it now.

He closed his eyes as his mind fell into the familiar routine of cataloging feelings. It was an old, time-worn and proven habit. It made him a good soldier, able to keep a level head and objectivity on and off the battlefield. It also meant his reports were generally more streamlined than Shepard's had ever been, hitting the key points of what actually happened without derailing into commentary on what he though _should_ have happened.

Hmm, key points... Shepard was alive (good), but working with Cerberus (bad). Claimed to be using them (hopeful, if true). Garrus was with her (infuriating and inexplicable, but not important now). He had kissed her (_very_ good, completely irrelevant), but she'd slapped him (awful, possibly relevant). Shepard knew why he was on Horizon (potentially problematic).

Shepard claimed she had been dead, as in, actually dead, not metaphorically dead or conveniently dead as part of a cover (absurd). But it was Shepard, so it was possibly true. On the other hand, it was Cerberus, so it was possibly false (no way to verify).

Neither Shepard nor Garrus seemed to know about the rumors surrounding her shift in allegiance. That was curious, since it suggested Cerberus was using her in much the way the Alliance had: as a poster girl.

An image of Shepard in a very tiny bikini leaning against a sleek hovercar floated through his mind. He didn't bother to interrupt it. Shepard was a good poster girl.

With that pleasant thought, Kaidan drifted to sleep.

* * *

><p>AN: I was not happy with this chapter, so it has been slightly revised from its original content. And yes, I coped with Horizon by trying to think of ways it could have been worse. *shifty eyes*


	3. Earning Brownie Points Is Hard

Chapter 2: Earning Brownie Points Is Hard

* * *

><p>Shepard jammed her helmet on her head as soon as the shuttle lifted off, only to yank it back off as soon as they landed, rising impatiently before the doors were even open. It snagged on the clips she wore to keep her hair out of her face, and she cursed the clips, her hair, armor in general, and her helmet specifically for being a pain in the ass nuisance, suggesting that it might function better inside someone's rectum.<p>

Miranda and Garrus sat quietly, like deer that had caught the scent of a cougar. The shuttle doors slid open. Shepard stalked out, yanking at the clips still stuck in her hair. They let out a joint breath, stood up, and slunk off to medbay, avoiding each other's eyes.

* * *

><p>She did not scream at the Illusive Man, even when he all but stated he'd been using Kaidan as bait. She gave herself extra brownie points for that, making a mental note to get Gardner ingredients for actual brownies when they docked at the Citadel. Gardner was a surprisingly competent chef. Maybe Miranda could find someone else to take over janitorial services...<p>

But she had other business first. Kaidan was reporting to the Citadel. If the Illusive Man had put Kaidan into play on Horizon, someone on the Citadel knew about it. If the Illusive Man had just gotten incredibly lucky, someone on the Citadel knew about it. Anderson knew about it. Knew, and hadn't told her. She understood why Anderson didn't trust Cerberus — she didn't trust them, either — but after all the Captain had done for her, it hurt to know that he didn't trust _her_.

Shepard exited the briefing room through the armory, thumping a fist against the wall as she went and smiling as Jacob Taylor jumped slightly. _Ha._ He didn't know her well enough to know all her moods, but he'd learn.

It's not like the Alliance was throwing her a 'welcome back to life' party. Even after saving their asses from Sovereign, the Council still thought she was crazy, and dangerous. Anderson claimed to believe her, but couldn't back it up with action this time. Cerberus was the only organization willing to put their faith in her. Why was everyone so eager to blame her for doing her damn job? Why did Kaidan —

_Ugh. Why did he have to be such an ass?_

And none of it, _none_ of it, did anything to alleviate the guilt gnawing at her gut. So many missing colonists...

She'd survived Mindoir, when so many others hadn't. She'd come to terms with the loss, accepted the fact that it wasn't her fault, learned to compartmentalize and focus on the job, but she still felt a sense of obligation to colonists. Someone had to be out there protecting them, and if the Alliance couldn't do it, then she could. Mordin was right, there were a lot of ways to help the innocent. Sometimes she could do it by killing a lot of bad men, as she had on Torfan. But even the Butcher put limits on what she considered acceptable collateral damage. Half the colony on Horizon was missing because Cerberus and the Alliance wanted to have a pissing contest.

Shepard prowled through her ship, glaring darkly at unfortunate Cerberus officers who had the bad luck to be standing in her line of sight. Her eyes traced every panel, every strut, daring a single screw to be out of place. She roamed through engineering, looking over Donnelly's shoulder at incomprehensible lines of code; not a single whisper passed between him and Daniels as she left. She lurked at the edges of the mess hall, where off-duty personnel were critiquing Gardner's latest fare. She scowled at them, perversely pleased when they fell silent.

Her crew sufficiently terrorized, she walked back to the elevator. Her hand slammed onto the control panel, hitting the button for the CIC. Time to get the fuck off this rock.

* * *

><p>"Commander," said Kelly Chambers, radiating sympathy and good intentions. "I heard about what happened on Horizon. What you did down there was incredible. But it must have been difficult for you to see Commander Alenko after all this time."<p>

Shepard glowered at her, noticing the flinch around her eyes, though the yeoman stayed remarkably calm.

She took a breath, then another, forcing air through her nose and into her lungs, and not yelling at or shooting her assistant. Shepard had worked with enough psychologists to know that most of them were just nice people trying to do a difficult job; even the ones who were completely inept. A few of them were nosy, malicious bastard. Chambers seemed like a nice girl, too naive for her own good, but it was difficult to tell with Cerberus. Better bitchy than sorry.

"Yeoman," she said quietly, "Kaidan Alenko was a valuable member of my crew on the first _Normandy_. I trusted him with my life. He trusted me with his. It hurts like fucking hell to hear him call me a traitor, but I'm a big girl. I'll survive."

For a moment, Chambers' mouth formed a tiny 'o', before she shook it off with a warm, disarming smile. "Of course, Commander. I apologize if I offended you. I'll be here if you need anything."

Shepard flashed her a quick smile, not warm, but tolerant. It wasn't that she didn't trust Chambers — well, no, she didn't trust Chambers. Miranda already reported everything to the Illusive Man, and Chambers had been hand-picked for a job that amounted to reading Shepard's mail and spying on the crew. But she _did_ seem sincere, and she knew when to back down. Loyalty to Cerberus wasn't an indelible character flaw.

The plan coalescing gently in the back of her mind depended on it.

* * *

><p>"Hey Commander," Joker said nervously. Shepard ignored him.<p>

"Set a course for the Citadel. I want to be at the embassy two hours ago. And get a message to Anderson letting him know what time we'll arrive."

"Done and done," he said, hands gliding over his console. "Can't do anything about the time — well, you could go to sleep and I could sneak in and reset your clock." He grinned lecherously at her.

"I don't think that will be necessary," she said mildly, giving him a genuine smile.

"You're no fun, Commander," he groused as he turned back to the navigation controls.

Shepard stared at the rush of stars outside the windows. She could feel the question hanging in the air; part of her wanted to run and hide, another part just wanted him to get it over with. So she stood quietly, while Joker occupied himself with what she considered mind-numbingly boring readings.

After a while, he cleared his throat. "It's uh, pretty crazy the people you can run into out here, huh?" She rubbed the bridge of her nose while he rambled on. "I mean, it was probably a setup or something but it was still good to see Kaidan — uh, Staff Commander Alenko — wasn't it?"

She glanced down at her pilot. He was leaning back into his chair, body canted slightly away from her, like he was afraid she might hit him, or worse, blow a hole in his baby.

Shepard wondered, not for the first time, exactly how much the crew of the _Normandy _knew about her relationship with Kaidan. It was difficult to hide the fact that he didn't always sleep in his assigned pod, not that anyone really kept track. If people noticed that he was mysteriously absent during his downtime, no one said anything. Their superiors had made no effort to separate them after the attack on the Citadel, and any lower-deck rumors never reached her ears. Granted, Kaidan's job as commander of her marine detail was to crush rumors like that before they festered, keeping the soldiers in line so she didn't have to handle them herself.

But Joker and Kaidan had been friends, even before she'd met them, so maybe Joker had come by the knowledge honestly.

She did not wonder how the Illusive Man knew about her relationship with Kaidan. The Illusive Man probably knew everything about her, down to the precise time and facial expression she had when she got her first period, and came by all of that knowledge dishonestly.

"Yeah," she said eloquently, unable to bear Joker's silent cringing. "It was good. I missed him. But it's been a long time, I don't think —" she broke off mid-sentence, hearing the emotion swelling in her voice and hating Joker and Kaidan for making her feel this way. "Anyway. Things to do, people to kill. Page me when we get to the Citadel." She turned around sharply, wanting to crawl back to her quarters and sob into a pillow. Or stab a pillow. Or stab Joker and tell him to pass it on to Kaidan.

She headed for the crew deck instead.

* * *

><p>"Commander," said Dr. Chakwas as Shepard pulled on her clothes. "You're cleared for duty. Barely a scratch on you. It seems Dr. Solus' countermeasure was exceedingly effective. You do have some bruising, which I imagine you'll feel soon enough, but no broken bones, nothing of concern. I've already cleared Garrus and Ms. Lawson."<p>

"Thanks, Doc. That it?"

Chakwas fixed her with a penetrating stare. Her doctor stare, the one that said, _'yes, I know what your spleen looks like, and no, I will not use that knowledge against you, but I could, so think about that'_.

Shepard returned it evenly.

"I have a lovely bottle of asari whiskey if you ever need to talk, Commander," said the older woman, turning back to her diagnostic charts. Shepard had the sense that she'd been dismissed.

She had conflicting feelings about Dr. Chakwas. On the one hand, the woman was a great drinking buddy. On the other hand, Shepard had no family, and something about the doctor's age and manner stirred up uncomfortable filial memories. On the _other_ other hand, Chakwas was a Navy doctor, had seen action in most of the major military campaigns of the last twenty or thirty years, had patched up Shepard and her team countless times on the SR-1, and had seen the Project Lazarus files. She obviously knew what Shepard's spleen looked like, and for some unfathomable doctory reason, was choosing to use that information for good.

Commander Shepard, defender of the galaxy, found that slightly nerve-wracking.

_At least the _Normandy_ loves me_, she thought, patting a bulkhead on her way out of medbay. Even EDI was growing on her, especially since the AI had taken to teasing Joker. Weird how an AI could be almost... human.

She walked slowly toward the elevator, dimly registering the sounds of crew chatting in the mess. The doors opened quickly, and she stepped inside, pushing the button for the loft as she leaned against the wall.

The elevator chimed and the door slid open. She sighed. Garrus was —

— not standing there.

_Huh._

She'd talked to practically everyone else about Kaidan. She'd fully expected him to be waiting for her, wearing a cautious expression and projecting awkwardness like a shield. Garrus was less outspoken than Joker, and not as nosy as Chambers, but he was more perceptive than he let on, and he knew her better than almost anyone else on-board. He'd also been friends with Kaidan, and Kaidan had criticized both of them for working with Cerberus.

Of course, Garrus' approach to subtlety usually meant a sniper rifle instead of an assault rifle, so maybe he needed some space to cool down, too.

Or maybe Garrus had it right. The universe looked prettier with cross hairs in the middle. Shepard laughed mirthlessly, running her hands through her hair and over her face.

She needed a hot shower and sleep. Wonderful, blissful sleep, without any creepy old men with creepy cyborg eyes, or virile young marines with sultry voices and intoxicating eyes —

"Shut up!" she exclaimed, throwing herself down at her desk. She leaned over and pulled off her boots. "Good job, Commander. Now you're actually talking to yourself," she said sarcastically, then groaned. She folded her arms in front of her computer and laid her head on them.

Horizon had _sucked_. She usually worked well under pressure, but Kaidan... oh, Kaidan. She'd imagined a dozen different conversations they would have when she finally saw him again, trying to find a good way to say, _by the way, I'm fine, let's celebrate with lots of sex_, before realizing how much time had actually passed. Two years was practically forever; Kaidan could have been KIA, or simply forgotten her, or been married —

_Think about pink elephants. Pink elephants in tutus. Dancing. With penguins. See how they frolic._

She snorted at her own foolishness, sitting up to pull off her shirt. A shower to wash off the bitter aftertaste of Horizon, and then as much sleep as she could work in before they arrived at the Citadel. Then she could stop thinking like a emotional teenager and start acting like a goddamned marine.


	4. Red Handed Jill

**Chapter 3: Red-Handed Jill**

* * *

><p>"Hey, Jack," Shepard said, sin dripping from her lips.<p>

"Hey," Jack replied succinctly from her cot.

"Aren't you sick of skulking around this hidey-hole," Shepard began as she sashayed closer to the tattooed woman. She bent over, hair falling down to frame her face, and tilted her head as she looked into Jack's eyes. "Like a scared little mouse?"

Jack raised a delicate eyebrow, but said nothing. Shepard continued.

"I think it's time you and I started... working together."

"If you want to fuck, just say so," Jack said irritably, "but I'm not really into pussy."

Shepard smirked. "Charming. But no." She stood straight and crossed her arms, gazing at Jack through half-lidded eyes. "I need a first mate, Jack."

Jack sat up, her shock apparent. "Hell, Shepard. I didn't think you had it in you." A menacing grin spread across her face. "Who do we kill first?"

* * *

><p>"Listen up crew, this is your commander speaking." Shepard's voice drifted over the intercom. Jack lounged over Joker's chair like a cat, batting at the ball cap we wore as he tried to wave her away. "You can forget all about Cerberus. This is <em>my<em> ship. You can think of me as your queen —"

"Fucking pirate queen," snorted Jack.

"— and I expect you to show your gratitude and respect accordingly," Shepard continued, undaunted. "Inspection in half an hour. If I see anyone on this ship with a Cerberus uniform... Jack's gonna have a new plaything."

The comm clicked off. "Citadel, Joker, now."

"You heard the woman, gimp," Jack said, leaning around the side of the pilot's seat.

"Jack," Shepard said in warning, "play nice. Joker has a special place in my heart and if you hurt him I'll have to hurt you."

"Nice to know you care, Commander," muttered Joker. Jack hissed at her.

* * *

><p>Shepard, Jack, and Garrus landed heavily on the glass ceiling of the Citadel Tower atrium. The <em>Normandy<em> SR-2 loomed above them, an echo of the Reaper the _Normandy_ SR-1 had battled at this very spot.

"Down we go," she said saucily, popping a fresh thermal clip into her shotgun.

She took aim and fired.

* * *

><p>The shot rang out through the chamber. Diplomats and hangers-on fled as the turian councilor fell, blue blood marring the pale wall behind him. The salarian councilor turned to run; a single round from Garrus' rifle pierced his head, dropping him instantly.<p>

Shepard turned as she heard C-Sec officers shouting. She let loose with a biotic shockwave, throwing them off their feet, and laid down cover fire with her SMG as Garrus picked them off.

The asari councilor had a barrier up, shimmering blue as she rose into the air; Jack ripped her apart like a rag doll.

Screams assailed her ears, rising over the crack of gunfire. She could smell smoke, the acrid stench wafting up as the Citadel burned. Austere buildings shook and crumbled around her. Her N7 armor glowed eerily in the firelight.

"Was that really necessary, Commander?" Kaidan asked from behind her. She whirled around. He smirked at her.

* * *

><p>Shepard bolted upright, panting. She was soaking in sweat, underclothes clinging uncomfortably to her skin.<p>

_What the fuck?  
><em>

Okay, she wanted, badly, to shoot the turian councilor. Especially after the "Reaper" thing. But just in the leg! Just something for him to think about. Not... _that_.

She rubbed her eyes, still blurry from sleep. The blue glow from the fish tank filled the room.

Now that was something. A fish tank taking up a whole wall. On a warship. It was idiotic. Worse than the model ship display. And they were a pain in the ass to feed.

But feed them she did, climbing out of bed. She leaned against the cool glass, smiling as the colorful skald fish darted around, chasing flakes of food.

She was kind of attached to the fish. They were like people, swimming around in their little tank, oblivious to the threat of Collectors, or Reapers, or the complete destruction of the entire galaxy. Feeding them was as much of an obligation as saving colonists. And feeding them was a routine. She missed routines. Cerberus had standard operating procedures, but they lacked a real command structure and any sense of military discipline. Hell, she even missed _regulations_.

Maybe she should be stricter with her crew. Not that she had ever been particularly strict on the first _Normandy_; it was hard to enforce Navy protocol with a bunch of oddball aliens, and any pretense she might have wanted to keep up was severely hampered by her liaisons with Kaidan. She shrugged off the idea. They weren't military. It would just breed resentment. Besides, it seemed wrong to impose Alliance order on a Cerberus ship. Like Cerberus deserved to be held to the same standard.

Shepard frowned. She hadn't forgotten what Admiral Kahoku had told her about Cerberus. How they started out as an Alliance black-ops group. When this was all over, Cerberus was going to answer for that, among many other things.

No answer would be good enough to save them.

* * *

><p>AN: In the film _Peter Pan_ (2003), Red-Handed Jill is the name Wendy Darling adopts when she considers becoming a pirate on Captain Hook's ship.


	5. Professional Opinions

Chapter 4: Professional Opinions

* * *

><p>The Citadel was a shining bastion of civilization in a brutal, vicious galaxy. Once you learned to overlook the fact that it was actually an elaborate death-trap created by horrific AIs from the hellish depths of dark space, it was really quite charming.<p>

Shepard leaned against a railing in the Presidium's financial district. She looked around nonchalantly, taking in the flow of traffic, the shoppers bartering with the proprietor in a nearby store, the artificial sky and artificial breeze and artificial lake. She could see the Conduit not far away, cordoned off as serious looking people with serious looking tech idled around it. Two years later, and the scientists still hadn't taken the damn thing apart.

She shifted her attention, running a practiced eye over her new team. They were definitely no amateurs. Each woman was as skilled in the arts of deception as she was in the arts of killing a man dead in colorful and inventive ways. They were also armed to the teeth, despite the apparent absence of anything more powerful than a pistol.

Kasumi Goto, the galaxy's most and least famous thief, was smelling the flowers, probably thinking about purloining a rare orchid.

Miranda Lawson, dyed-in-the-wool Cerberus Loyalist and possibly Cheerleader, was staring across the lake, probably thinking... well, it was hard to tell what Miranda was ever thinking. She played it closer to the vest than Kaidan did. And she wore remarkably less vest. Shepard made a mental note to do something about that.

Kaidan, though. Well, Kaidan had been pretty talkative the first time they'd arrived together on the Citadel.

Shepard strolled along the causeway toward the embassies, lost in memories.

When they'd docked after Eden Prime, she'd been worried about Saren. But the size and scope of the station had pushed those fears into the back of her mind. She hadn't had words for the beauty of the Citadel: the vastness of the Ward arms or the majesty of the Presidium. Her eyes had roamed the sleek facades of ivory buildings, listening with pleasure to Kaidan and Ashley's running commentary, content to let her junior officers bicker and tease each other like siblings. She'd had siblings, once. Before the raid.

Shepard blinked back tears. The last thing she needed right now was to show up in front of Anderson looking like an emotional basket case.

She inhaled deeply, remembering Ash's smart-mouthed quips and Kaidan's blushing, ineffectual attempts to correct himself, digging a deeper hole with every word. It wasn't all bad. She picked up her stride.

"Big place!" she called out with a smile, as her companions hastened to catch up with her.

* * *

><p>"I thought we were friends," Shepard said, a trace of exasperation in her voice. She crossed her arms and leaned back on her heels. This meeting sucked so far, and showed no signs of improvement. "I never expected <em>you<em> to go behind my back."

Captain David Anderson, now Councilor Anderson, shook his head as leaned against the balcony in the human embassy. "We didn't know about you at the time. And I wouldn't have told you if I did. What if the Illusive Man was manipulating you? Lying to you? The report actually confirmed your story."

She bit back her retort. She'd talked to Anderson weeks ago, before Horizon. He damn well knew about her. Alliance Intel, as usual, was spectacularly lacking in the actual intelligence department. If she _had_ been a Cerberus pawn, no way in hell would Kaidan's presence on Horizon have made a damn difference. If it had been Cerberus, and she'd been doing their dirty work, the whole colony would be gone, Kaidan with it, and the Alliance would be right back where they started: without a Spectre to run their errands.

Not only did they not trust her, they also thought she was incompetent enough to get caught.

Anderson sighed. "I still don't trust Cerberus, but they were right about the Collectors abducting the colonists."

Shepard tapped her foot impatiently. She'd trusted Anderson, her mentor, her Captain, her harbor in the storm of fubar that was the Saren investigation. And now he did _this_ to her.

He'd sent Kaidan off to Horizon with rumors and innuendo, but never bothered to confirm or deny, to tell him that she'd been on the Citadel, that she had tried to find him, that she had played nice with the Council for the sake of her mission, or even what her mission was. Didn't even tell him she was actually, honestly alive.

And then the bastard had stonewalled her when she'd specifically asked about her former lieutenant, claiming he couldn't trust her.

Trust. Ha! She was the only trustworthy person in this whole farce.

"Unfortunately, Alenko didn't find anything to convince the Council that the Reapers are behind this. Or even that they exist."

_Well duh_, she thought childishly. She'd told Kaidan as much. The Council never believed anything you tried to tell them. You could land a Reaper on right on top of their chambers, and they'd claim is was just a really special geth ship. It took a really "special" kind of political mind to be that fucking stupid.

"I'd better go," she said with a scowl. _Before I throw you over the ledge and have to explain to C-Sec why the human councilor has an unfortunately broken neck._

"My door is always open," Anderson told her. He sounded sincere. But he'd sincerely told her to fuck off and stop being nosy, too.

Shepard left the office, bumping into Udina on her way out the door. She waved a hand at him without stopping. She weaved her way through petitioners and embassy staff in the courtyard, heading for the nearest elevator. She needed to get to the docking bay and get off the station before she caused a 'diplomatic incident'. She pressed the summons button and banged her forehead against the glass door as she waited.

Anderson was an ass, and it was her fault.

She should have nominated Udina for the Council position, and then Anderson would still be military, instead of a politician with a stick up his ass and a hard-on for classified information. She could work with military. Hell, give her ten minutes alone with Admiral Hackett and she could probably find out almost anything she wanted to know — in a roundabout way involving a lot of solemn denials and harrumphing on Hackett's part, of course — but that was better than the constant stream of polite apologies and _nothing_ that Anderson spewed forth.

Politicians? Fuck 'em. At least Udina was a known quantity: everyone knew he was a complete son of a bitch who'd fuck you sideways and then throw you to streets for a pat on the head from the Council.

Why exactly had she saved the Council? Had it possibly been because Kaidan had been at her side, blathering about preserving galactic stability or some other cockeyed bullshit?

It was definitely not because she had wanted to rub their smug alien noses in the fact that they had cut her off, and she'd still turned around and pulled their asses out of the fire. She was not that petty. And they, pack of ingrates that they were, wouldn't have appreciated it, anyway.

_Ha_, she thought darkly as the elevator chimed its arrival.

Somewhere, someone needed her boot up their ass. She was going to find that someone, and make them very sorry.


	6. Professional Opinions pt II

**Chapter 4.5: Professional Opinions pt. II**

Preface: So... I forgot that I wanted to include this scene when I posted the last chapter. (That will teach me to ignore my outline.) I wanted to add this to that chapter, because thematically I felt that made the most sense, but it was almost four pages of text, and I thought that might be confusing for people who've already read it. Consider this a continuation of the previous chapter.

* * *

><p>Kaidan sat at his comm terminal, staring at the screen.<p>

The cursor blinked at him judgmentally.

The first thing he'd done upon waking was send a bare-bones report to Anderson detailing the situation, then another message to the nearest Alliance vessel requesting immediate passage for a Council Spectre.

Then he'd checked on the colonists. Whatever stasis tech the Collectors used wore off slowly, but at least it _was_ wearing off. The freed colonists were confused, groggy, but appeared unharmed. That had taken most of the day, and there were still a few that had yet to revive. It was possible they never would.

He'd checked on the colony supplies: they had food, and water, and power. There was some structural damage where Shepard had fought the Collectors, and there where still those ghastly pods and dead bodies littered throughout the colony. He'd left Delan to deal with that; it was obvious the man wanted nothing to do with him, and the majority of the colonists were still refusing his help.

Kaidan didn't want to be there, anyway.

He'd checked on the defense systems: all online and functioning properly. Thanks to Shepard.

It stung a little that she'd come along and fixed the problem so easily. She didn't even like tech. She teased him when he pulled apart an interesting new piece of equipment, studying the circuitry and component design. She called him a nerd, bemoaning her bad luck in falling in love with a techie, claiming she was going to run off with a marine who liked guns instead of data pads.

He missed that.

He missed _her_.

But it was embarrassing to be rescued, yet again, by Shepard, when he should have been able to do the job himself. It was humiliating and infuriating that he'd been sent off to protect the colony, and when the moment came, he was, very literally, paralyzed.

Now he had to write a report explaining his failure to the Council.

So he sat, staring at a blank document, the cursor mocking his inadequacy.

A message flashed across the screen, startling him. A reprieve? No. An incoming tightbeam transmission from the Citadel. _Perfect._ He could explain himself directly, so everyone could see how upset he was.

He rubbed his hands over his face, painfully aware that he hadn't taken the time to shave that morning, and opened the vid link.

Councilor Anderson flickered into view, his image grainy and orange.

"Commander," Anderson said. "We received your message. We're all awaiting your full report."

"I'm sorry, sir," Kaidan said, feeling slightly aggrieved; Shepard had never had to deal with this kind of nannying from the Council. "I felt it was important to ensure the safety of the colonists before" — _reporting their safety prematurely? telling you everything was aces?_ — "finalizing the mission report."

"Understandable, Commander. Do you have anything else to add?"

Kaidan nodded. "Most of the colonists are fine, given the circumstances. No apparent medical problems, though there may be psychological issues. The colony should be salvageable, if the colonists choose to remain here. They've lost a lot of people, though. Too many to pick up where they left off. I doubt they'll welcome any more assistance from the Alliance; most of them blame me for the attack.

"The GARDIAN defense system is functional, it should prevent any further attacks, from Collectors or anyone else. I'm not sure how Shepard did it."

"Commander Shepard has always had an impressive knack for pulling off the impossible," Anderson interrupted with a smile.

_That's what I love about her_, thought Kaidan, but continued with the pertinent details. "She was with Cerberus," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. "Leading a team, in fact. She was accompanied by a Cerberus operative, identity unknown, and Garrus Vakarian."

"The C-Sec officer? He fell off our radar after Shepard died."

"Former C-Sec officer, yes, sir. I'm not sure how long they've been in touch."

"I can't believe Cerberus is working with aliens," Anderson said, shaking his head. "They must be desperate."

"It may not be entirely voluntary, sir. Shepard can be... quite forceful," said Kaidan, remembering her preferred method of persuasion.

"Point taken, Commander. Your previous report mentioned Collectors. Can you elaborate?"

"Yes, sir. The Collectors have some sort of... bug, like a large wasp. They move in swarms. The sting paralyzes the victim within a few moments, leaving them fully aware but unable to move.

"The Collectors then place their victims in pods for transport to their ship. They left dozens of the pods behind when they fled; I've had a few moved to secure storage. They should be available for study. The Collectors were also using husks."

"Yes, you mentioned them," said Anderson, "geth husks."

"Reaper husks, sir," Kaidan corrected.

Anderson raised an eyebrow. "Commander Alenko, I know you and the Council have... divergent opinions on the Reapers, but it's possible that the Collectors simply traded the geth for this technology."

Kaidan ran a hand through his hair, frowning. Anderson had a point.

"I know you want to believe Shepard. I want to believe her, too. But the Council won't accept that. They need facts."

Kaidan shook his head ruefully. That's what he'd told Shepard the other day. Tried to tell her. When had he turned into the Council's mouthpiece?

"These husks are different than the ones the geth used. I secured specimens of them, as well."

Anderson nodded his approval. "Good work, Commander."

"Thank you, sir. I just wish..." Kaidan trailed off.

_I wish I could have done something. I wish I could have followed her. I wish I could have made her stay with me. I wish I could have saved her. I wish —_

"You wish you could have saved more people," Anderson said gently, interrupting Kaidan's thoughts.

Kaidan bowed his head, hoping his face wouldn't betray his emotions. "Sir," he said quietly.

Anderson sighed. "Kaidan, I know it must be difficult, trying to balance your role as a Spectre and an ambassador for the Alliance, but I have faith in you. I know you'll do what's best for the mission, and the safety of the colonists."

Kaidan blinked. That was... unexpected.

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate that."

Anderson nodded. "There's something I think you should know. Commander Shepard stopped by to see me. She was... concerned."

Kaidan's head jerked up. Shepard was visiting Anderson?

"I couldn't tell her everything, of course. Not until we're sure where her loyalties lie. But the Council has reinstated her Spectre status, unofficially. She claims Cerberus is investigating Collector abductions; your report confirmed that."

"Sir," Kaidan hesitated. Should he tell Anderson? It would be in the full report, anyway. Anderson should know. Did he have to know _now_? No. But the words tumbled out, anyway. "She claims she was dead, sir. She really believes it. And Joker saw her —"

"Joker's with Cerberus now, Alenko," Anderson reminded him.

"I know. But —"

"Resurrection is impossible, Commander." Anderson shook his head. "Reapers are one thing — we all saw Sovereign — but we don't know _what_ Cerberus did to her. I believe that she believes it, but you know we can't trust Cerberus. And we can't trust her as long as she's under the Illusive Man's thumb."

Kaidan swallowed the bile rising in his throat. Anderson was right, he knew Anderson was right. That's exactly what he'd told Shepard. He'd believed it then. But now...

Now he just wanted her back.

"I understand, sir."

* * *

><p>AN: I don't know how long it takes to get from Horizon to the Citadel; times in the game are vague at best. So for the purposes of this story, it takes slightly less than a full day on Horizon, which is almost 38 hours.


	7. Gonna Need a Bigger Boot

**Chapter 5: Gonna Need a Bigger Boot**

* * *

><p>Illium was worse than Omega. On Omega, all the leeches, criminals, and common miscreants were clearly identified as such. On Illium, the purveyors of vice masqueraded as upstanding citizens, with rules and contracts and social niceties. They even had a concierge to point you in the right direction.<p>

Apparently you could get anything on Illium — even slaves. Shepard had been quite vocal in her displeasure at that little tidbit of information. The harried concierge had taken one look at Shepard's face and backpedaled hastily, spouting some idiocy about "indentured service", but it was still slavery. Just because they weren't raiding colonies like those bastard batarians didn't make the asari _right_.

And just because the asari went around with rulebooks and regulations didn't make Illium a nice place. Illium was every inch the wretched hive Omega was, it was just cleaner, with more blue aliens and much brighter lights.

Shepard was starting to hate neon. It was a perfectly inoffensive element, until deranged shopkeepers and stim-addled brokers got their grubby little hands on it. They stuck it in tubes along the walls, where it hung around the edges of your vision, chipping away at your soul until all that was left was a shallow, self-absorbed mockery of a person with a fast tongue and a bar tab.

Or maybe that was just Illium.

Sitting across from Liara, who had been, Shepard was pretty sure, more than half in love with the Commander, she wondered briefly if it was _her_.

Everyone she'd served with was... broken.

Kaidan's unshakable control had dissolved into rage; Garrus had gone down dark and twisty paths she had tried, against her own nature, to steer him away from; Tali had taken it into her head to go tearing around the galaxy playing the hero; Ash was... Ash was gone. Hell, the only one who seemed better off was Wrex, who was apparently still King of the Krogan, or whatever the Tuchanka equivalent was.

And here was Liara, threatening people with her dead mother's words.

Shepard was good at threatening people. It was practically a recreational hobby. And that was fine for her, because she was a trained soldier with a big mouth and a bigger gun to back it up. But Liara T'Soni had been a mousey little scientist who'd trapped herself in a barrier field and would have been killed — taken hostage — inconveniently displaced by Saren's storm troopers if Shepard and her squad hadn't rescued the poor girl.

_Maybe it's opposite day._

She smiled inwardly, remembering the game she had played with her friends as a child. On opposite day, you said and did everything that was the opposite of what you meant. Up was down, left was right, clothes were put on inside out and backwards, and you absolutely wanted to wash the dishes and clean your room, and laughed the whole time you did it because you had put one over on the adults...

Yeah. Opposite day. Opposite month. Opposite two years. That explained everything.

The concierge has said she could get anything in Nos Astra.

Shepard moved 'big fucking heavy boots' to the top of her mental shopping list.

* * *

><p>The window cracked, gave way, and shattered, tiny shards of glass twinkling in the panoptic lights of Nos Astra like a thousand distant stars. Shepard grinned unabashedly as the merc plummeted into darkness, his scream fading in the wind.<p>

"Oops," she murmured to herself.

Garrus shifted uncomfortably, peering over the jagged window frame. "Harsh. But I guess he deserved it."

"Better him than us, and there's more where he came from. This building might not have enough windows."

Garrus said nothing, aware of the mood Shepard had been in since leaving the Citadel — since leaving Horizon — and not liking his odds against gravity if she made any sudden moves.

Kasumi appeared behind them, materializing from thin air as she dropped her tactical cloak. "Not that this isn't fun, but don't we have an assassin to steal?"

Shepard laughed. "Garrus! Find us something to shoot."

The turian made a show of brandishing his sniper rifle, sighting down the scope and making unnecessary adjustments before stalking off ahead of the women. Kasumi's form shimmered and was gone. Shepard checked the clip in her shotgun and set off after Garrus.

* * *

><p>She didn't even try to suppress the warm, tingly feeling that suffused her body as Thane Krios dropped silently from a vent, quickly dispatched the guards, and then shot Nassana Dantius in the stomach before the woman could even raise her gun.<p>

Shepard still seethed with righteous indignation when she remembered the way Dantius had played her, convincing the newly-appointed Spectre to kill the asari's sister, the slaver. And then the bitch thought she could negotiate her way out of it with a few bio-amps! It was insulting. It was _embarrassing_. Fucking politicians. If Thane hadn't shown up, she would definitely have shot Dantius herself.

But now she had herself an assassin. A very intriguing assassin, with an apparently rigid moral code. That was fine by her; too many people on the _Normandy_ played fast and loose with morality. Shepard naturally excluded herself from that list, because of course she was just doing what had to be done. For galactic peace and stuff.

She moseyed along the winding hallways of Nos Astra, headed back to the _Normandy_ for a post-mission medical exam and sit-rep. Miranda would have met with her contact by now, and Shepard wanted to check in with Liara again before going after the asari in the Illusive Man's dossiers.

Looking out over a balcony, she had to admit that Illium was a gorgeous world. Nos Astra alone rivaled the Citadel in scope and activity, a great glowing hub of commerce and culture struggling desperately to keep up as its citizens ran ahead.

Exactly the kind of place that could use a good, hard kick in the teeth.

* * *

><p>"Commander, you have new messages waiting for you at your private terminal."<p>

Shepard waved at Chambers in acknowledgment, but didn't stop to check. The ground team was prepped and she needed to talk to Miranda about their timetable first.

If it were urgent, Miranda would probably know about it, anyway. She'd check it when they got back.

* * *

><p><em>Well that was fun<em>, thought Shepard, humming slightly to herself as she flopped onto her bed, still wearing her armor. _Fun like a barrel of thresher maws._

Miranda was happy, practically floating on air, after meeting her sister. Shepard had granted the crew impromptu shore leave — and that was a benefit of working with Cerberus, and having her own ship: she could do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, and no one could stop her — and ordered Miranda off the ship, so she could spend time with her sister before the family was relocated. Miranda had protested, but she'd looked pleased when Shepard pulled rank.

Shepard didn't like the fact that Cerberus was involved in the relocation. It gave them more power over her nominative XO than she was comfortable with, yet another link in the chain they could yank at any time. Cerberus could have easily leaked Oriana's location to Miranda's father — even staged the whole thing — after all, saving her sister just reinforced Miranda's loyalty, both to Shepard _and_ to Cerberus. That kind of emotional mind game would be right up the Illusive Man's alley.

Still, what was done was done. No point in dwelling.

Shepard stretched her arms as far as she could, ignoring the discomfort of armor pressing into her back. Maybe she'd just sleep with it on. Couldn't be any more painful than almost being crushed by falling Reaper.

But no, Chakwas would want to give her a physical before the ground team disembarked again, and she still hadn't tracked down the asari justicar — Samara? Some sort of warrior priestess. It didn't matter; if the woman could shoot a gun and hit the right target, Shepard would welcome her with open arms.

She kicked her heels against the edge of the mattress a few times, then tugged off her gloves, dropping them to the floor beside the bed. Eyes closed, she fumbled for the latches and straps that kept the rest of her armor in place. She could feel a variety of what would surely be attractive bruises forming.

_All those upgrades and they couldn't fix a simple thing like broken capillaries. Amateurs._

Shepard enjoyed a morbid giggle at Cerberus' expense. She was a superhuman cyborg now, but she still had to deal with annoying injuries like lesser mortals. And she needed to move before soreness had a chance to set in. Damn. Maybe Chakwas had some brandy left.

Yawning, she pushed herself up, wobbling slightly as the mattress gave under pressure. She pulled off the rest of her armor, slipping into a worn set of navy blue fatigues. It turned out you _could_ get anything on Illium, and Shepard had returned to the _Normandy_ to find a tidy little collection of surplus Alliance uniforms waiting for her. It would be amusing to traipse around her Cerberus ship in Alliance blues.

Her computer pinged softly as she passed, informing her of waiting messages. Well, at least that would occupy her while she waited on whatever mysterious doctor things Chakwas would want do. She flashed her inbox to a data pad and walked out to the elevator. The doors slid open and Shepard stepped inside, hitting the button for the crew deck. She leaned against the wall and flicked through her message queue.

A minute later she shuffled back into her room, knuckles pale as she gripped the data pad.

Chakwas was just going to have to wait.

* * *

><p><em>You can do this<em>, she thought to herself encouragingly. She had dropped the data pad on her coffee table, leaned against her locker, and slid down to the floor, jamming her knees against the bed. Now she watched the data pad warily, as though it might attack at any moment. _You are an Alliance officer. You took out a whole geth army. E-mail is like, like..._

Her inner monologue trailed off. Reading _this_ e-mail was _not_ easy. She had noted the subject dubiously, opened the message, read as far as the sender line, then exited as fast as possible.

What she needed to do was go down to medical, talk to Dr. Chakwas, convince the amiable older woman that what they both needed was to be really, really drunk right now, and then she could read it. That would make everyone happy.

Shepard groaned, dropping her head to her knees. She was being childish. Literally childish — she had sat in this very position as a child, hiding from thunderstorms and very large dogs before she was old enough to learn not to be afraid. But she didn't want to listen to Kaidan's voice in her head yelling at her again. She already heard it whenever she let her mind wander for too long. What if he'd come up with new and more horrible things to say? What if he regretted kissing her? What if he was writing to say he was sorry, but he was with someone else now and —

_Pink elephants, pink elephants, pink elephants — oh, oh! Asari justicar!_

She seized the idea desperately. Yes, that was it. She had work to do. Very serious work saving the galaxy from certain doom. Very important. The Council would definitely not approve of her wasting valuable time when she could be getting ready to take on the Collectors. It was important to give the Council a good impression, especially if she wanted her job back later.

She sprang to her feet, smacking her head against the locker door in her haste. She ignored the sting and began pulling armor out haphazardly, not bothering to replace spare pieces that tumbled out. She grabbed at her belt, shedding her clothes.

"EDI, tell the ground team to meet me in the shuttle bay in ten minutes, we're going out," she said, hopping on one leg as she struggled into the skin-tight mesh bodysuit.

"Of course, Commander," came the synthesized voice. It was odd, but EDI's voice was somehow soothing.

_Ha. Of course it is. Cerberus probably focus-tested her to death to make people think of mom, or blankets, or something._

Shepard yanked the zipper up the suit more vigorously than necessary, and began snapping ceramic plates into place.

Good. That was settled. She would save the galaxy and not think about Staff Commander Pink Elephants, or his obnoxious Phoenix armor.

* * *

><p>AN: A short interlude while we follow Shepard's adventures in ass-kicking, no Kaidan. He'll be back later.

Thank you to everyone who's been reading this, and to those who have added this story to their favorites. And a big thank you to the people who've reviewed. I appreciate it. (:


	8. Nasty Little Thoughts

**Chapter 6: Nasty Little Thoughts**

* * *

><p>"You did this to me!"<p>

Liara kept talking, but Shepard couldn't hear her over the pounding of her heart and the roar of blood in her ears. Everything Cerberus had done to her, the grafts, the implants, the tracery of cybernetic scars over her body reminding her constantly that she should be dead; everything she had lost, her job, her crew, the only life she'd known after slavers had stolen her childhood, the trust of her superiors, Anderson, _Kaidan_ — it was all Liara's fault.

"We were supposed to be friends!" she yelled over the asari. "I —"

_Loved you? No. Maybe a little? Cared about you? Trusted you? Would have died for you?_

"— I can't believe you would do this to me! You know what Cerberus is like! You were there when we found Kahoku, you saw what they did! Thorian creepers, Rachni, husks — husks, Liara, they turned people into husks! You don't know what they could have done to me! They were the ones who put those thresher maws on Akuze; they're completely immoral and _insane_ and you just _gave_ me to them? Because they said they'd make it all better? Just how stupid are you?"

She stopped for a breath, trying to focus on the thought that Liara was her friend, her friend who had fucked up monumentally, but still her friend, and as such did not deserve to be beaten to a pulp or thrown out the window. Maybe shouted at a little more.

"It was them, or the Collectors. I made the best choice I could," Liara said in the sudden silence, her tone only slightly defensive.

"That's bullshit, Liara! If you had my body you could have just buried me! You could have just left me! But you chose to hand me over to a bunch of depraved terrorists who get off on torture! _Why?_"

"I'm sorry," Liara whispered, so softly that Shepard barely heard her. "I love you," she continued as tears welled in her eyes, "I couldn't let you go."

Shepard's heart thudded against her ribs, her throat tightened as she struggled to breathe evenly. Cerberus was still Cerberus. It didn't matter that they'd resurrected her, it didn't matter that they wanted to fight the Collectors, it didn't matter that they believed in the Reaper threat; they were still evil and no amount of regret, or grief, or love could change that. She was starting to understand why Kaidan had been so mad. But she wasn't ready to forgive him, and she wasn't ready to forgive Liara.

"I have to go," she said curtly, then turned on her heel and marched out.

* * *

><p>"Someone is going to tell me where the justicar is, or I'm going to start shooting," Shepard growled, grabbing Pitne For's exosuit and lifting him off his feet.<p>

"Excuse me," said a voice behind her, "who are you? And why are you harassing my suspect?"

Shepard dropped the volus and turned around. There was an asari standing behind her, stance loose, one hand resting casually on the pistol she wore at her waist. Light weapons, crisp blue-gray uniform, territorial attitude — local law enforcement, then.

"I'm a Spectre," Shepard answered simply.

The cop frowned, looking Shepard up and down as though heavily armed mercenaries were just another minor annoyance in her day. "Illium isn't a Council world. You have no authority here, Spectre."

Shepard glared at her. She was pissed off and she had a job to do; the last thing she needed was some upstart cop with stupid ideas about jurisdiction. It would only end badly for everyone.

"If you know about Spectres, then you know I could do anything short of starting a war out here and I wouldn't get so much as a slap on the wrist from the Council."

Okay, admittedly the Council had told her to keep a low profile. Using her status to coerce information out of criminal lowlifes was one thing, throwing mercs off buildings was another, but they might not turn a blind eye to open intimidation of governments agencies. Not that there was much they could do about it, even if they did care.

The asari considered her for a long minute, then stuck out a hand. "Detective Anaya. I'm in charge of the murder investigation. Justicar Samara is... _assisting_ us in our inquiries," she finished with another frown.

Shepard shook the woman's hand in relief. According to Officer Dara, Anaya was probably as upset about the justicar as she was about a meddlesome Spectre. Shepard could use that.

"I'm Commander Shepard, pleased to meet you. I assure you, it's not my intention to interfere in your investigation, Detective," Shepard said in her best diplomatic voice, "but I really need to talk to Justicar Samara. I need her help with a critical mission, and from what I understand, you need her gone. Perhaps we could help each other."

Anaya hesitated, still frowning, gazing at Shepard doubtfully. Her expression relaxed as she seemed to make a decision, and she extended an arm toward the police station behind her. "You might be right. Come on, I'll show you the file. This whole situation is a mess, and having a justicar hanging around just makes it that much worse. My superiors are nagging me to get rid of her, but it's not that simple. I'd be grateful if you could resolve this before anyone gets hurt."

Shepard followed Anaya into the station, taking a seat in front of the woman's desk. Anaya pulled up a file on her terminal and started the data transfer to Shepard's omni-tool.

"This is everything we have so far. That volus you were talking to, Pitne For, his partner was murdered. It was a professional hit, not just some robbery, but it could be a gang thing. Eclipse controls most of the backstreets around here. Pitne For probably knows something, but he's not talking."

"So why is Samara involved?" Shepard asked. "Why does she care about some murder on Illium?"

"I don't know. That's part of the problem. There's no reason for her to be here, but she showed up a few days ago, no one knows why. And then she started poking around my crime scene. If she starts killing people there's gonna be hell to pay. But if I have to take her into custody, she'll fight her way out."

"She'd fight cops? Why?"

"Samara follows the Justicar Code. It obligates her to protect the innocent and punish criminals. She would die, or kill, for it, but she'd see anyone who tried to stop her as a criminal, so she'd have to kill them. That's why my bosses want her gone. If you can convince her to leave before I have to arrest her, you'd be saving a lot of lives, including mine."

That did not sound promising. Shepard already had a band of psychotic mercenaries, so no problem there, but they all followed _her_ orders, no questions asked. If Samara followed some ridiculous moral code, what would she do if Shepard gave her a conflicting order? Shepard had no use for a weapon she couldn't control.

"She's at the crime scene," Anaya said, "I'll tell the guards to let you in."

Shepard sighed, but stood up to leave anyway. First things first: she would find Samara. Then she would do whatever needed to be done.

* * *

><p>Samara was grace personified. To say she moved like wind or water would be inaccurate; to say she moved like a dancer would be woefully misleading. She moved like a predator, muscles taut in preparation, eyes wide and watchful, every movement purposeful as she stalked her prey. Threat was apparent in every step. There was no superfluous motion, no ostentatious display of power, no idle fidgeting.<p>

Thane's biotics were controlled, his strikes precise, another facet of his training. Jack's biotics were full of anger and unbridled power, a reflection of her personality. Shepard herself tended toward Jack's style, charging into battle like a freight train and finishing off anyone left standing with a few shotgun rounds. But Samara moved slowly, with no rush, in full control of the situation, and when she hit it was like a snake, sudden and quick, and then it was over. All the power that Jack threw into chaos and havoc, Samara had distilled into simple motions, creating elegant channels of dark energy that still hit with all the force of a mass accelerator weapon.

And that thing she had done that made her fly...

"Are we friend, or foe?" asked Samara.

Shepard wasn't actually sure. Samara was powerful, no question, but she was also a justicar, following some arcane and archaic code, and that made her dangerous. Maybe more dangerous than adolescent krogan or psychotic killers-for-hire. "That merc was wounded and helpless," Shepard stated coldly. "Do you just kill anyone who won't help you?"

Samara returned Shepard's stare evenly. Her voice was even when she answered, no hint of emotion or opinion; she was just stating an obvious fact. "If my cause is important enough, yes. Are you different?"

Shepard smiled wryly. That was a fair point. "I can't say that I am."

"That is something we share. You are honest — that is another. How may I be of service to you?"

"I'm Commander Shepard. I need your help to take down the Collectors," Shepard said honestly. Yeah, that was her. Honest and trigger-happy.

"The Collectors are a worthy foe; I would relish testing myself against them. But I seek an incredibly dangerous fugitive."

_Of course she does._

Everyone had a mission. It was like the Illusive Man had taken out a help wanted ad, recruiting criminals and madmen with important personal quests, great pay, chance for promotion — if they survived.

"I cornered her here," continued the justicar, "but the Eclipse sisters smuggled her off-world. I must find the name of the ship she left on before the trail goes cold."

"I wish you were willing to go with the human, Justicar," interrupted Anaya, stepping through the door Shepard had entered from. "I've been ordered to take you into custody if you won't leave."

"You risk a great deal by following your orders, Detective," Samara spoke calmly. Shepard suspected she was always calm, perhaps even more so than Thane or Kaidan. "Fortunately, I will not have to resist. My code obligates me to cooperate with you for one day. After that, I must return to my investigation."

"I won't be able to release you that soon," Anaya said, but she sounded resigned. Shepard wondered if Samara would really kill her, or if Anaya would really try to stop the justicar if she escaped.

"You will not be able to stop me."

Ah, to hell with it. Samara was just looking for some murderous fugitive. Shepard was good at tracking down fugitives, and better at killing them. That would be easy. And all Samara was looking for here was a _name_; find that, solve the problem. Maybe the local Eclipse crew had some kittens that needed rescuing, too.

"I'll get the same of that ship," Shepard said, breaking the tension.

Samara turned to her. "Do that, and I will join you. Then the Code will be satisfied."

Yeah, whatever that meant. Still, if she could control Samara, it'd be like facing down the Collectors with a tactical nuke.

"The volus merchant Pitne For is tied to this," Samara said, as she stepped around Shepard. She paused at the door and turned around. "Eclipse mercs are planning to kill him. Get the truth out of him. He may know a way into the Eclipse base."

Anaya moved to follow her. "I've got to get back to my station. And I guess I've got to take you with me."

Samara nodded at the detective. "Thank you, Shepard."

"Try not to throw him off the roof," Garrus muttered as the the asari left.

Shepard grinned. "Going soft on me, Garrus?"

"I just know what a pain it is to clean up."

Shepard looked at him askance; she saw Thane do the same.

"What?" Garrus said defensively. "You think no-one ever jumped off a building on the Citadel? I saw a lot of things working for C-Sec, some messier than others."

Shepard snorted in amusement. "All right. I promise not to push any volus out of windows or otherwise cause them to splatter messily on the ground."

Thane hummed, but she didn't know him well enough to know if it was just an acknowledgment or if it meant something more.

"Or the wall. Or whatever, let's just go find some mercs to kill."

"Is she always like this?" she heard Thane ask Garrus as they walked down the alley to the spaceport.

"No," Garrus replied, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. "Usually she promises that she _will_ hurt someone."

Thane hummed again. Shepard smiled. Pitne For, that sneaky little rat, had lied to her. She'd promised not to throw him off the roof, but no one had said anything about scaring the shit out of him. And even if she played nice, there was still a base full of Eclipse mercs just begging for her attention. She'd forgotten all about Liara, and Kaidan, and Cerberus. The hunt was on.

* * *

><p>"This meeting is a complete waste of time!" cried Councilor Valern.<p>

Kaidan had to agree with him. They had argued for ten minutes about geth and were no closer to a resolution than they had been when they'd started. At least they _were_ talking about geth. The husk data from Horizon fightened them, but they weren't even willing to _listen_ when he'd mentioned Reapers.

"It's obvious that's your previous ties to Commander Shepard have influenced your judgment," continued the turian, "but Shepard is working for Cerberus. She's unstable."

Kaidan felt the unmistakable spark of dark energy shoot down the nerves in his arms, and willed himself to relax. He couldn't afford to lose him temper here. He couldn't even afford to show emotions here. Fortunately, Anderson was here to do it for him.

"Commander Shepard is a decorated officer! We all owe her our lives!" Anderson shouted.

"We've heard this before," Valern snarled. "It's always the same with you humans."

"That's what you said about Saren, Councilor," said Kaidan, slightly proud that his voice betrayed none of his frustration.

"Indeed," Valern said, his eyes gleaming. Kaidan had a vision of him as some great raptor, chasing down its prey. "And Shepard is rapidly heading down the same path, allying herself with Cerberus. She's going to end up like Saren if she continues to defy this council."

"Is that a threat, Valern?" Anderson growled, glaring at the turian.

"Enough," Councilor Tevos said in a tone that brooked no argument. Valern looked at her, then looked away, shifting like a bird settling feathers. Anderson's glare held, but he was quiet.

"As we have already stated, the Saren investigation was a different matter," said the asari. "The question is now whether or not the geth are involved with the Collectors. The fact that the Collectors are using husks is extremely concerning, and it suggests that the geth may have access to Collector technology. A second attack on the Citadel could be disastrous, but we simply do not have enough information. Now that the Cerberus investigation is closed, we require your attention in this matter," she finished, turning to Kaidan.

"Yes, ma'am," his inner marine replied without any input from his brain.

"You know that we cannot be involved in an operation in Terminus space, not officially. The abduction of human colonies must remain an Alliance matter. But the geth are a threat to all species, and we must know what they are planning." Tevos fixed him with a steady gaze. "Commander Alenko, it is vital that you keep a low profile. Commander Shepard has already riled tensions on several worlds, and we cannot afford a war with the Terminus Systems."

So he was being sent to investigate geth. _Again._ Because the last time he'd done that, it had ended _so_ well. But at least it was something. At least he wouldn't be sitting here, listening to politicians argue for months, until Shepard went and got herself killed again. He could be out there, doing something, something to help the Alliance, to stop Cerberus. To save Shepard.

"Yes, ma'am."

"This meeting of the Council is adjourned."

* * *

><p>"I have to admit, I was relived when Samara did that oath thing," Shepard said to Garrus as she set her fork on her plate. "I wasn't sure she'd be willing to accept my orders, but this makes it a lot easier."<p>

She stretched out on her sofa, sated and content.

Garrus and Shepard had taken to eating dinner together shortly after he'd arrived on board. They would talk about their latest mission, trade old stories, or reminisce about the old crew. Sometimes they would just sit quietly, each glad to be around someone who didn't _expect_ something from them. Sometimes Joker would join them, and they'd drink themselves stupid. It wasn't Garrus' preferred method of stress relief, but it worked.

It was also nice to get away from the prying eyes of Cerberus personnel. The crew had been very polite, very accommodating. No one gawped at him, or made rude comments about aliens, which meant they avoided looking directly at him, and hardly ever spoke in his presence. Their politeness was aggravating. Shepard would still stop at his station and talk to him, the way she had done on the first _Normandy_, but she never stayed for long. It was like she was trying to keep herself busy, even when they ran out of leads and had nothing pressing to do but wait. So he kept mostly to himself, except for dinner, when he could relax and enjoy their camaraderie.

"Can you believe the nerve of that Eclipse girl?" she grumbled, taking a swig of whatever foul-smelling liquid she was drinking.

Garrus laughed. "Elnora? I can. Criminals will say anything to get out of trouble. But she got what was coming to her. And you enjoyed it."

Shepard's face contorted oddly. "I'm not a complete monster, you know."

Garrus blinked. Shepard usually didn't flinch at comments like that. "I didn't mean —"

"I know what you meant," she said, waving a hand at him. "And I did. I was so angry earlier, and she _did_ deserve it, but... I don't know. It would have been nice to find someone worth saving. Even on Omega there were good people. Everyone on Illium is so, so..."

"Gray?" Garrus supplied. He had a certain distaste for Illium himself.

"Yes!"

"You saved that quarian," he reminded her. "And Detective Anaya."

Shepard frowned. "All I did for that quarian was help her be a better slave. And Anaya was just in my way."

"You did a good thing, for both of them. Don't be so hard on yourself."

"Maybe," she conceded, and Garrus thought it was all he was likely to get.

Shepard wriggled a little to lie flat on her back, propping her legs on the back of the sofa.

Garrus watched her surreptitiously over the rim of his glass.

Shepard was too... soft. She had curved lines where there should have been angles. She had tiny little hands where there should have been elegant talons. She had eerie scars where there should have been colony tattoos — not that he had much room to talk about scars. She had squishy cheeks where there should have been mandibles. And she didn't have fringe. Instead, she had loose blonde hair — not as long as it had been when they first met, but long enough now to brush her shoulders — that fell over the edge of the sofa cushions as she kicked her legs up to rest her feet against the wall.

It was weird.

And fascinating.

He didn't have some sort of creepy human fetish. He wasn't some alien-obsessed pervert. Sure, asari were interesting, and human females _looked_ a lot like asari, but that was just... a thing. It didn't _mean _anything.

And just because Shepard was one of the strongest, bravest, most vibrant people he'd ever met, it didn't mean that he _liked_ her. Well, of course he liked her; everyone liked her. Everyone she wasn't shooting at. And the Council, but they didn't like anyone. Shepard came along and swept you up in her wake, made you part of her team, accepted you, cared about you, helped you when you needed it. And in return the only thing she wanted was to know that you had her back, just like she had yours. So yeah, he liked her. But he wasn't _in love_ with her. Probably.

Besides, she and Alenko were... whatever they were.

Of course, Alenko was an ass. So maybe they weren't. But that still didn't mean anything.

Shepard straightened her legs, flexing her ankles so the soles of her feet faced the ceiling. Ankles. That was another weird thing.

"You know," she spoke suddenly, "we're going to have to do this in the mess now."

_Stare at your legs?_ Garrus thought, but opted for a less dangerous response. "Eat dinner?"

Shepard laughed. The sound was too high-pitched. She didn't even trill.

"Talk. But eating dinner with the crew would help, I guess."

_Help?_ Garrus was lost. It wasn't like Shepard to be cryptic; she was usually blunt and forthright. It was one of the things he appreciated about her.

"Shepard, what are you talking about?"

She tiled her head back to look at him, then flipped herself over gracefully to sit right-side up. "We're not going to be with Cerberus forever," she said slowly, like she wanted to make sure he was listening. "I know I can trust you, Garrus. And I hope you'll be with me." She sounded sad.

"Always," he said, feeling a sudden need to reassure her, wishing someone would reassure him. He'd never known Shepard to lack confidence, and the tone of her voice was unsettling. He tried to lighten the mood. "You know me. Besides, I already agreed to walk into hell with you, no way you can keep me from walking out."

She grinned. Her teeth were too small, dull and flat, but somehow that just made her... beautiful? No. Shepard wasn't beautiful. She was fierce. She was vicious. She was clever and sneaky and fearless and she had a smile that lit up her face and made him want to smile, too. But that didn't mean anything. That was just Shepard.

"I wouldn't dream of trying," she said affectionately, then shook her head. "But Cerberus isn't going to make it easy. We need to be prepared." She crossed her arms and leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees.

"The crew of the old _Normandy_ worked because we trusted each other. I don't trust Cerberus, and I don't trust their crew. They believe in me, because I'm everything they want: a shining example of humanity," she said, raising her glass in a mock toast. "They tolerate you because you're with me. Because we're with Cerberus. But when this is over, I need to know they'll back me up. I need them to be _my_ crew, not the Illusive Man's. I need them to trust me, and trust you."

"Where exactly are you going with this?" he asked, perplexed and now genuinely curious.

"What are we good at, Garrus?" she asked in response, leaning back on the sofa and crossing her legs.

"Shooting things?" he hazarded with a frown. He wasn't sure he liked her new cryptic side.

"That," she said, nodding casually before another grin crossed her face. "And stealing ships."

Okay. Maybe he loved her a little. But it didn't mean anything.

* * *

><p>AN: The names of the Council are unconfirmed, "Valern" is either the salarian or turian. But it's awkward to write "turian councilor" over and over, and the salarain councilor never does anything, so the turian is Valern.

Yes, this is a Shenko piece, and it will end that way. There will be no derailing into other ships. Just little sidetracks.


	9. Hurry Up and Wait

**Chapter 7: Hurry Up and Wait**

* * *

><p>Kaidan's fingers slid up the shaft, lingering at the end before he lifted them slowly, leaving only his index finger pressed against the hard tip. He was so close, just a little <em>flick<em> of his fingers. . . . A ripple of dark energy flowed from his hand, the bright blue washed out in the artificial sunlight of the Presidium. He pulled his hand away, making a series of minute muscular adjustments. The energy shifted in response, a haze that hung in the air like heat, but he didn't need to see it; he could feel the weight of it, the hum and drag against his skin.

Large biotic fields didn't require control. To throw a shipping crate around, or throw a man through a wall, all you needed was force and a general sense of direction. But if you wanted to lift a latch, or crush a man's throat, you needed skill. Delicacy. Control. And control required practice.

"I'd like to hear what Commander Alenko thinks."

Kaidan looked up. Rear Admiral Danforth of Systems Alliance Naval Intelligence was staring at him with polite disinterest. Several other people were staring at the stylus standing upright on the table. A few years ago he would have dropped the field immediately—no, he would never have created one in public in the first place. That was before Saren, before the geth, before the Reapers. Before Shepard. He left the stylus where it was.

People tended to assume that because Kaidan was a tech geek who kept mostly to himself, then he must also be an uptight pencil-pusher. They looked past the marine-standard muscles just enough to see the strict self-control and natural shyness, but not enough to see the wry sense of humor or lingering insecurities. But Commander Alenko _was_ a marine, and what he thought was that this meeting was completely pointless. It wouldn't do any good to say that, but at least he could try.

"It won't matter," Kaidan said. "If Shepard's with Cerberus, she won't trust us; if she's not, she clearly doesn't trust us anyway, or she'd be here now." He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the conference table. "Any concerted effort should be directed at their other cells; Shepard will do whatever she thinks she has to do, with or without Cerberus. Dismantling their network should be the top priority."

"But if she _is_ loyal to Cerberus," said Major Antella, "which seems highly plausible at this juncture, we can certainly use that to our advantage, if she believes she has something to gain by cooperating with us."

Caleb Antella was a shrill, officious man from the Department of Internal Naval Affairs. Everything about him rubbed Kaidan the wrong way, from the shine on his boots to the fussy part in his hair. Antella liked regulations, but not because he believed in in what they stood for; he liked them because he viewed them as a weapon in the quest for power. Antella had probably never fired a rifle in combat, but he spent his days devising little ways to destroy people with words and paperwork. His current target was Shepard.

"It would be simple to feed her false intelligence, even stage some mock scenarios to make her feel—"

A chorus of voices erupted around the table. Kaidan tuned them out. Pointless. There were four people in this room who actually knew Shepard outside of psych evals and mission reports; he was one of them, and even he wasn't sure whose side she was on. The only other people who even vaguely understood her were Councilor Anderson, Admiral Hackett, and, oddly enough, Ambassador Udina. Anderson and Hackett respected her, Udina was terrified of her, and so they gave due consideration to her not inconsiderable powers. Everyone else was acting like she was _normal_.

Until she was seventeen, Shepard had been average. Average family, average grades, average aptitude scores. She'd enlisted on her eighteenth birthday, an orphan with no higher education, just an average human who wanted to be an average soldier. Then she'd been shipped off to boot camp, and no one could have anticipated what came out.

Shepard had thrown herself into training, rising quickly to the top of her class. She was focused, pragmatic, and charismatic: a natural leader. She was a perfectionist who spent hours poring over manuals and pushing herself through practice until her technical scores were exemplary. She was smart, a quality she hid with machismo and a loud mouth; as a result, people tended to assume she was just another dumb marine. She had a devious psychological genius and an underhanded approach to military tactics, coupled with enough batshit insane derring-do to outmaneuver the entire Alliance fleet before anyone could move—possibly literally, as it seemed her new ship was basically _Normandy 2.0_, and Joker was her pilot.

Kaidan hadn't been there for that meeting, but he would have paid to be a fly on the wall. No one knew how Cerberus had gotten the specs for a top-secret warship, and no one was above suspicion. Some of the brass were still sore about it, months later; apparently Admiral Mikhailovich had made himself hoarse from shouting.

Shepard might fall for whatever implausible ruse the INA brain trust could cook up, but the illusion wouldn't last long, and when she realized they were trying to play her, she would bring her wrath to bear on everyone involved.

"If she's really going after the Collectors, she can't afford that kind of distraction," Kaidan said. Everyone in the room turned to look at him. A few years ago he might have blushed under the scrutiny, or worried he was speaking out of turn. Now he returned their stares evenly. "Sirs."

"Commander Alenko," Anderson said. "You have something to add?"

"Yes, sir. Commander Shepard's stated intention is not currently at odds with our own. She wants to take out the Collectors, and at the moment she's in a better position to do it than we are, since she can operate openly in the Terminus Systems. I'm not saying we should trust her," Kaidan said, noting the skeptical faces around the table, "but for now it might be better to let her do what she needs to do."

"Surely you agree, Commander, that it behooves us to act while we can, to get an agent in place," said Antella. "Shepard is a valuable asset."

Kaidan was increasingly losing patience with Antella's smarmy affectations. He imagined Shepard striding forward and punching the obnoxious little tit, and felt slightly better. "With all due respect, sir, we have a better chance of reclaiming that asset if we focus on Cerberus and not Shepard."

"Those are _hardly_ discrete objectives. Cerberus is materially strengthened under Shepard's command; they're waging a PR war with rumors of her defection. And as you say, depriving her of Cerberus' resources by directly acting against them could have a detrimental effect on her mission."

In his head, Kaidan had an argument with Shepard. _Superior officer_ chased _goddamn Spectre_ around in circles.

"Sir, it's one thing to work against Cerberus, but you're suggesting putting Commander Shepard in a position where she might actually have to choose between them and us—" _them and me_ "—and she's not stupid. She'll be expecting a set-up."

"Commander, your reports indicated that she _asked_ you to join Cerberus. Why not fulfill her wishes? Unless you have some _other_ objection to this operation?" Antella fixed Kaidan with a stare that made him seriously question what kind of mess deck intelligence he'd missed. The man couldn't possibly know about their relationship—if he did, Kaidan would already be up on charges. Right?

Udina slapped his hands on the table. "You cannot seriously be suggesting we place _another_ Spectre in Cerberus' hands! It's bad enough that Shepard is allowed to run around with impunity, the _last_ thing we need is to build their army for them."

"The problem with Commander Shepard, Ambassador, is that we had no control over her placement. An agent under our control could engage in active espionage, even sabotage, under our direction."

"And how do you assure the loyalty of that agent, Major? Shepard is an extremely _compelling_ woman, and Commander Alenko has already mutinied with her once."

Kaidan frowned and shifted uncomfortably under the weight of the ensuing silence.

"That's uncalled for," said Anderson. He exchanged a look with Udina, and the ambassador settled back in his chair.

"It's too risky," said Udina.

Kaidan shook his head. "She wouldn't trust me anyway."

"I think we've heard everything we need to hear," said Anderson, looking at Hackett. The admiral was leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of his face. He nodded at Anderson. "Dismissed. Commander Alenko," Anderson said as people gathered data pads and filed out of the room, "I'd like to speak with you in my office."

"Of course, sir."

* * *

><p>Shepard stretched out on her bed, flicking through files on a data pad. The <em>other<em> data pad, the one with Kaidan's message, was still sitting on her coffee table, glaring at her accusingly. She was ignoring it.

There was only one dossier left: Tali'Zorah.

Shepard and missed Tali, and wanted to see her again. The girl—and Shepard couldn't help thinking of her as a girl—was like a little sister, so excited and enthusiastic to be tagging along with her older sibling. That was exactly why Shepard _didn't_ want to see Tali again. Everything had changed, every_one_ had changed, and everything since waking up in a burning space station had just reinforced that fact. Once upon a time, Tali had followed Shepard unquestioningly; on Freedom's Progress she had made it clear that she wouldn't.

Shepard still didn't know what the story was with Cerberus and the quarians, and at this point she didn't really care. Whatever it was, it wouldn't change anything; for now, she needed Cerberus as much as they needed her. And while she understood the value of diplomacy, she wasn't about to mediate a dispute between the Illusive Man and the Migrant Fleet. One Cerberus cheerleader per _Normandy_ was one too many.

Where that left her, she wasn't sure. She could drag Tali into this mess—and from a tactical standpoint, that was the smart choice; Tali was an incredibly talented engineer, better than anyone on else on her crew, and her skills could literally be the difference between life and death—if Tali was even willing to come with her. But even with Tali, the probability that they would all die anyway was high. Tali would be another friend she killed.

No. _No._ That line of thought was as unproductive as sitting here pretending everything was fine. Shepard was not given to fatalism, and she was not, as a rule, defeatist. Sarcastic, yes; morbid, sure; but there was a difference between gallows humor or the occasional bout of pessimism and just _giving in_. Shepard didn't give in. She fought. She would fight tooth and nail to make sure they all made it through this mission alive, and for that, she needed Tali.

That was settled. There was only one more thing she needed to resolve.

* * *

><p>"Excuse me," said Kaidan, stepping back and around the woman he'd just walked into. That was stupid; if there was anything he should have learned from Shepard it was the danger of inattention. Even on the Citadel. What was it Ash had said? So perfect they had to be hiding something?<p>

"Kaidan?" said the woman. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, and turned around. He was greeted by a pair of pale green eyes and a tentative smile. "Kaidan Alenko? That is you, right?"

The blood drained from his face. His chest felt hollow. His lungs struggled to expand, but his throat closed. It was like trying to breathe in vacuum. "Rahna?"

"Hi."

"Hi."

They stared at each other for a moment, and then she ducked her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. It was a familiar motion, one she always followed by—yes, _that_—she twisted the strand through her fingers. He used to sit behind her in class, watching her fingers threading through her hair and wondering if it was as soft as it looked. He hadn't expected to see that again.

Kaidan's mind ran through possible conversations, searching for an option that wasn't both trite and woefully inadequate. But there was nothing to say, or rather, there was too much to say, and none of it could be said here, in an embassy hallway. He settled for inane politeness.

"How've you been?" Damn, that was stupid. That was what Shepard had said to him, and how had he responded?

But Rahna laughed. "I've been good. I didn't save the galaxy or anything—oh, don't look like that. You know you were all over the news for weeks?"

"Yeah, I guess," he said as he rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. He didn't want to talk about that with Rahna. "What are you doing here? Do you work for the embassy?"

"Not really. I'm, uh, serving in an advisory capacity to the Subcommittee on Trans-human Studies."

"Biotic rights?" That was surprising; the way Rahna had reacted after Vyrnnus had died, he thought she'd want nothing to do with biotics.

She shrugged. "I figured something good had to come out of brain camp." Her hand was still in her hair. Kaidan found himself transfixed by the motion of her fingers as they crossed each other, drawing a silky curl between them.

"_Excuse_ me," said a man at Kaidan's shoulder. "If you two want to stand around gawping at one another, you could at least not do it in the doorway." He pushed his way past them.

Rahna turned back to Kaidan with her mouth open, like she wanted to say something, but she couldn't meet his eyes.

"Listen, Rahna—"

"Do you want to get a drink later? Or dinner?" She smiled weakly, but her brows knitted together in a frown. "We never really, I mean. . . ."

"I know what you mean."

"So?"

Kaidan was not impulsive. He always checked the exits; if his father hadn't instilled that much sense in him then his time in the service certainly had. There were so many ways in which this was a bad idea, starting with the preeminently reasonable fact that he wasn't sure what the way out was, and ending with the somewhat disturbing fact that he wasn't sure he _wanted_ one. He nodded at Rahna.

"Sure. A drink would be good."

* * *

><p>Shepard's fingernails beat a tattoo on the data pad's screen. She had indulged this passivity—this cowardice—for far too long. If she'd been her CO, she'd have ordered herself to grow up and get the fuck over it. Emotions compromised judgment, and that got people killed—that was one thing she agreed with the Illusive Man about. None of them could afford to lose focus, and the longer she ignored the issue, the more effort she had to expend trying to pretend it didn't exist. So it was going to stop. Now.<p>

She pulled up her inbox and scrolled down the list of unread messages. She found the one she was looking for and paused, trailing her index finger along the title text. "_About Horizon..._" The letters blurred; she blinked to clear her vision. No matter what it said, she wouldn't cry. She had done with crying, now she just needed to read his letter and put the whole thing behind her, the way he had. She touched the screen and the message opened in front of her.

_Shepard,_ it began, and she smiled. Kaidan never had gotten the hang of calling her by her first name, even when they were alone. It started as a practicality, trying to establish distance through reliance on protocol. In the end, it was just another way he told her he loved her.

_I'm sorry_, he said, and her heart broke all over again. It wasn't fair; none of it was fair. She was the one who died, but everyone else was paying the price. He'd made it through two years alone, when she was a wreck after a few weeks. He was right, he was right about everything—well, not everything, but she couldn't stay mad at him—_drinks with a doctor_—yes, she could.

_Nothing serious_? Then why even mention it? In the same breath as, "I'm sorry", he went right on to, "by the way, I'm over you". And what did he mean he didn't know who they were anymore? It wasn't like she'd changed, which he would know if he'd give her half a chance. Ilos—how dare he bring up Ilos, how dare he suggest that it meant _less_ to her than it did to him? Change? She was _dead_, of course things had changed; that didn't mean they had to change for the worse.

_Be careful_? Really? Like he had a monopoly on grief? A patronizing warning about Cerberus in case she had changed so much that she couldn't look out for herself, and then some ambivalent . . . whatever _that_ was. _Take care_.

She threw the device across the room. It thudded against the door, bounced, hit the floor, and utterly failed to shatter into dozens of satisfying little pieces.

She snorted. Apparently the damn things only broke in holovids. That figured.

What the hell was wrong with him? Did he seriously think an _e-mail_ was going to solve anything? Typical: fight, then apologize in a round-about and impersonal way, just to leave a way out of the fight. He couldn't just trust her—but he _had_ trusted her, and it's not like she'd left him on purpose—actually, no, she hadn't left him at all. She'd _died_. _He_ was the one who'd left _her_, standing in the middle of a field; now he was just being stubborn. Well, he was going to be sorely disappointed if he thought she was going to forgive and forget. Commander Shepard did not forget, and she only forgave is someone gave her a really good reason.

_Maybe I still love you_ was a terrible reason.

* * *

><p>Kaidan hesitated outside Anderson's office. He was not in the mood for further meetings; he didn't believe they could reach a reasonable consensus, and even if they could, running into Rahna had left him feeling more than a little off kilter.<p>

It wasn't enough for the universe that his mind was coiled around Shepard. He checked his mail compulsively, hoping and dreading a response, but she hadn't written back. He imagined her with him, heard her voice muttering sarcastic remarks in his ear, imagined holding her, imagined the lives they could have together. Knowing that to be impossible, he imagined running off to be with her. He knew he couldn't, not without giving up everything he _was_, and part of him hated himself for it. Part of him hated her for refusing to come back to him.

And now there was Rahna, the girl he'd loved so desperately, who had broken his heart, broken him in ways that Vyrnnus could never have dreamed up. Like an idiot, he'd walked right into her, and then, like an idiot, he'd let her walk right into his life.

Another meeting was exactly where he didn't want to be.

Kaidan took a breath, sealed all those thoughts behind a mask of professionalism, and stepped into the office.

Anderson was leaning against the balcony wall, a snifter in one hand. Hackett was with him, standing straight with hands clasped behind his back, talking in hushed tones that didn't carry to the door.

"Councilor, you wanted to see me?"

Hackett didn't move, but Anderson turned around and took a few steps into the room.

"At ease, Commander. Would you like a drink?" Anderson picked up a bottle from the sideboard behind his desk and refilled his glass. Kaidan couldn't read the label, but he guessed it was Scotch, a ruinously expensive single malt imported from Earth. Shepard had kept a bottle in her desk on the _Normandy_; she said Anderson had taught her how to appreciate the liquor.

"No, thank you, sir."

"If you change your mind," Anderson said with a shrug. "I'll get straight to the point. You know these meetings are a required formality. It's important that we maintain the appearance of impartiality, especially now. It's ironic; we finally get a seat on the Council, and suddenly we're under more intense Council scrutiny than ever." He moved toward the balcony again. Kaidan followed him.

"The Council isn't the problem, though. INA is pushing hard to 'reacquire' Shepard—" Hackett snorted, but Anderson continued. "—and Arcturus Command is backing them. They want to bury her."

Kaidan didn't roll his eyes; in his mind, Shepard did it for him. "What, the first time wasn't good enough?"

"She survived."

"Yeah. She does that."

"If Antella gets his way, it won't matter," said Hackett, still staring out at the Presidium ring. "INA is a nest of vipers. They're already putting together a case for treason."

Kaidan's stomach lurched. "Treason? For what? There's no proof that she's _done_ anything." _Other than paint a giant Cerberus logo on her ship. . . ._

"And that's the _only_ reason they haven't already issued a warrant for her arrest. The Horizon report could have been a disaster; INA had already confirmed the Cerberus connection and they were looking for a reason to go after her. Under the circumstances, proof that Cerberus isn't behind the abductions is probably the best thing we could have hoped for."

INA had confirmed?—of course INA had confirmed; Shepard had docked her Cerberus ship at the Citadel and marched into Anderson's office with her Cerberus crew to talk to the Council. Everyone except him knew she was with Cerberus long before they'd met on Horizon. Apparently no one had deemed it necessary to inform him of that fact.

If Shepard had been there, she would have taken the opportunity to upbraid Hackett and Anderson for leaving her out of the loop. She knew as well as Kaidan did how the system worked; the difference was that she thought it was stupid _and that it would change if she shouted loud enough_. And that worked for her, because she was Shepard. Kaidan just waited patiently for the other shoe to drop.

"I've done what I can. Standing orders prohibit any contact. Thank god she had enough sense to get herself reinstated; it'll be a lot harder for INA to take action against a Spectre than a UA marine. But you know what that means: officially, we can't help her. We can't even go near her."

"But I can," Kaidan said, already formulating the counter-argument in his mind.

"Spectres are outside Alliance jurisdiction," said Hackett.

Kaidan sighed. Hadn't they just finished this meeting? "It's a mistake to chase her, sir."

"We agree," said Anderson. "Which is why you're going to chase geth, instead. The Council takes this mission very seriously, and as our agent, you're obliged to see it through to completion." He paused and leaned back against the balcony wall, sipping at his drink. "Of course, our job is merely to advise you. We can't and won't tell you how to conduct your investigation. If other concerns should arise, we trust you to attend to them."

Kaidan bowed his head with an appreciative smile. He sometimes forgot that Anderson was a sneaky bastard, an N7 who had helped train Shepard; it was as dangerous to underestimate him as it was to underestimate her.

Hackett cleared his throat. "To that end, Alenko, we have some good news." He stepped away from the balcony and picked up a data pad from the nearby conference table. "Anderson wanted to be the one to tell you, but I pulled rank."

He handed the data pad to Kaidan, who scrolled through the file directory. It all looked standard for a new posting: ship schematics, operational reports, personnel records, orders for . . . assumption of command? Kaidan raised an eyebrow, looking up in time to catch Hackett and Anderson grinning at each other.

"Congratulations, Commander Alenko," said Hackett, raising his hand in salute. Kaidan returned it.

Anderson offered his hand instead. "Congratulations, Kaidan."

"Thank you, sir."

"The SSV _Zama_ just returned from her shakedown cruise," said Hackett. "She's a Normandy-class frigate, perfect ship for a Spectre. She's docked at Arcturus for minor adjustments, but she'll be here at the end of the week. She's only got a skeleton crew at the moment; we wanted to leave the final selection to you. They're all fine sailors, some of them even served on the _Normandy_. Our recommendations are in the files."

"Aye, sir. Anything else I should know?"

"That's all for now," said Anderson. "I'll let you know if anything comes up. And Kaidan," he said as Kaidan turned to leave, "we're all proud of you."

Kaidan nodded and spoke around the lump swelling in his throat. "I won't let you down, sir."

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><p>AN: Sorry for the slow update, I got a little distracted with real life. Thanks to everyone who's been reading, and to reviewers: I less than three you.

Mess deck intelligence = scuttlebutt, rumors.

Alliance frigates are named after famous battles. The Battle of Zama marked the end of the Second Punic War with Rome's defeat of Hannibal and Carthage. Remember, kids: Carthago delenda est.


End file.
